Gandalf's Last-Minute Addition
by Emily Victoria
Summary: Gandalf sneakily adds another member to the Company, as if a seemingly useless Hobbit wasn't enough! Rated M just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing other than my original characters. This is set in movie-verse, but there are some references from Tolkien's book.

**Prologue**

As far as the eye could see, there stretched a sea of green; pale hues of saplings and young life, contrasted with deep, resonant colours belonging to well-established trees which seemed to twist upwards, searching for the sun. The ground was carpeted with moss and dirt, and the roughly-hewn road was marked out occasionally with smooth stones to keep a traveller true to their path. Sunlight fell through the leaves like raindrops, dappling the road suddenly with pale light, before being blown away on the soft breeze.

Rhythmic sound filled the air, as hoof beats drummed on the trodden earth; they were as steady and calming as a heartbeat until a sudden stop, when all seemed silent. Then, they began again with a soft nudge of knees to flank, and the journey continued on for a short distance, before abruptly halting again.

"It would be best to show yourself, as I know you have been following me for some time now," the rider called gently into the trees, searching with grey eyes for the shadow that had been plaguing her steps.

Gandalf, chuckling to himself, moved from the gloom of the low-hanging foliage and into the path, leading his horse behind him. His hat sat crooked upon his grey-white hair, and his beard fell down to the middle of his chest. His right hand raised in greeting as his other swept his hat from its perch and back again, as he still smiled.

"Ah, Miluiel. How far did we come before my presence was known?" he asked, watching as the slight woman dismounted her pony and approached him. He threw open his arms and his grin widened as she embraced him tightly, her head tucked into his abdomen and her arms wound about his middle as they had done when she was a child. Their horses turned to graze at the road-side as they held each other tightly, and she grinned up at him with straight teeth.

"I knew from the moment the breeze sprang up – I could recognise that magnificent sulphur smell of your fireworks anywhere," she disentangled herself, and he patted her arm as he chuckled.

"And your mother? How is she?" Gandalf straightened and smiled again as her face glowed, and she began to recount the recent months of her life with her mother, whilst mounting her pony. He swung himself up into his own saddle, and his mind drifted back to the small child she had been when he had first encountered her and her mother, the dwarfish woman Udwaline. Theirs was a tale of love and loss, and he felt uncomfortable recalling it.

Udwaline was a strong, young dwarf woman with many suitors who tried to catch her eye. This was almost always the case amongst dwarves, as there were so few women to men, but it was especially so in the case of Udwaline. Her russet hair curled down her back, and her dark green eyes were always merry, as if she were inwardly giggling at private jokes; she was kind and spirited, and always wore a smile. She had the strong jawline characteristic of a dwarf, with a snub nose and determined chin, and her skin was earthy, with ruddy cheeks; she had yet to grow a beard, but when it appeared, all were certain that it would be the same brilliantly auburn colour as her hair. Her father, Balel Nuradrum, was a skilled smith, who crafted fine jewellery and fashioned beautiful weapons in his forge. For miles around, many travelled to him with designs which they paid handsomely for him to craft, and he passed his knowledge down to his daughter and only child.

It was during a long summer's day that Udwaline was to meet the object of her undoing. An elven lord had travelled from the court of King Thranduil of Mirkwood with a message for Balel, along with designs he wished the dwarf to create. Faelir fascinated Udwaline, with his easy grace and elegance, which reminded her of how clumsy and awkward the dwarf men could be. She stared across her father's forge at him as the two men discussed payment and delivery, hiding behind her curtain of hair and peering at the willowy elf from beneath her lashes. Her eyes followed him as he seemed to glide from the forge to his horse, having given his message to her father and received the terms; he appeared in his saddle as if he were simply stepping up a stair, and he smiled down at her, remarking that he would return in seven days to collect the commissioned items.

In the ensuing days leading to the elf's return, Udwaline became distracted and distant, often preferring to spend her days alone in her father's forge, or roaming the town with no specific purpose, but simply to wander. Her father noted the sudden change in his daughter, and felt unsettled as he realised the catalyst for this downturn in her mood. The seven days could not elapse soon enough for Udwaline, and on the morning of Faelir's return, her mood lightened as she bustled around the small home the two dwarves shared. She baked bread and tidied the living quarters, and brushed her hair until it shone as the glittering jewels her father worked with. As the day wore on, Udwaline became more anxious, smoothing her clothing and snapping at her father as he came to into the kitchen to eat a midday meal with dirty hands and boots.

Finally, as the afternoon turned to dusk, a horse appeared on the road, carrying the tall and elegant elf lord, who apologised profusely for the lateness of the hour. Udwaline shyly directed him to the house, where her father was sitting with a mug of wine, and took his horse to the stable, before bustling back to the house and trying desperately to listen to the conversation of the two men whilst cooking the evening meal.

Balel handed the jewellery to the elf for examination, as Faelir passed the agreed payment over the table. After both parties were satisfied, Udwaline appeared with plates of food for the men and herself, and they ate together before Faelir rose, thanking them for their hospitality. At Udwaline's barely concealed cry, Balel reluctantly offered the elf a bed for the night, as the darkness was drawing in, and it was unwise to travel alone at night. Glancing between the two dwarves, Faelir looked unsure, but was soon settled with another mug of wine and, as Balel departed for bed, was left with Udwaline for company.

The two talked for a long while, sharing stories of their lives, and were fast discovering that they enjoyed each other's company immensely. As dawn drew near, Faelir had fallen asleep in front of the dying fire, and Udwaline had covered him with a blanket, then withdrew to her own bed.

In the morning, Faelir bade the two dwarves farewell, and left their home with his king's commissions. He returned, however, many times over the later months, with more orders for the smith and stayed to talk with the smith's lovely daughter.

Udwaline and Faelir developed a deep friendship over that time, and it was not unusual that Faelir began to stay a few days with the dwarves, if there were any way that Balel could complete a design in that time. Udwaline often entertained the elf with picnics and long walks, on which they soon discovered that their feelings could have grown deeper towards one another.

It was during one of these visits that Faelir discovered Balel absent from his forge. Udwaline appeared and revealed that her father had had to travel for more supplies, and offered her own services instead. Faelir had been reluctant to hand over the broken bracelet, as well as the new designs of the king's, but Udwaline assured him she was able to at least fix the clasp on the intricate piece of jewellery. She did this, and kept the designs which she would give to her father on his return; she then persuaded Faelir to stay the evening with her, and they ate and drank in the companionable way they had cultivated.

It was later in the evening, when the two had consumed much wine that Udwaline came to sit with Faelir, nearer to the fire. Her head had rested on his shoulder and they had continued to talk, until she had turned her face to his, to better answer a question he had posed to her. It was in that moment, when their eyes met, that it had felt like a deep pull in her chest, and she had tilted her determined chin towards him. His lips gently met hers in a chaste kiss, before becoming more passionate, more desperate for her touch.

It was intertwined, their naked bodies lit by the dying embers of the fire and caressed by the earliest dawn rays, that Balel found them the next morning.

That had been the end of their relationship, as Balel had bid a frosty farewell to the young elf lord a few minutes later, with a warning that he was not to visit them again. If his king wished for more commissions, he was to send an elf with more sense and respect about him. It was then he turned to Udwaline with fury, and forbade her from ever seeing the elf again. But the damage had been done, and it became apparent that Udwaline was with child – this was the creation of Miluiel, her name an Elvish tribute to her absent father, and her pale grey eyes the only reminder to her mother of her much longed-for lover.

Balel found it difficult not to love the half-blood child, despite her conception and her heritage, as she was simply beautiful. Long russet curls which echoed her mother, and large grey eyes which were framed with thick lashes drew people to her. Her mouth was full, with a more than generous bottom lip, and she possessed her mother's determined chin. As she grew, her Elvish nature became more apparent; her limbs were long and slim, with a small frame which remained petite as she matured into a young woman, never growing taller than the average dwarf woman. She also retained the stubborn dwarfish element to her personality, and soon became of an age at which Balel could teach her his craft, and how to adequately defend herself, if the need should ever arise. She became skilled with a bow, and was reasonably successful with a short sword, although never had the strength with which to heft an axe which, although he would never admit it, slightly disappointed Balel.

The three dwarves lived companionably, on the outskirts of their settlement as they always had, with the townsfolk whispering at first, but the situation soon became tolerable, and even accepted.

Udwaline's life was happy and busy, but Balel and Miluiel would both catch her looking sadly into the distance from time to time, mourning her lost and forbidden love.

Gandalf started as he felt a small hand upon his forearm, and he glanced from the slim fingers up to the concerned face of his young travelling companion. Miluiel's anxious eyes were wide, and he realised that she must have been waiting for his response, as he was lost in his memories.

"What was it you were saying, child?" he asked gently, curving his lips into a small smile, "I apologise, I was wandering in my thoughts, how terribly rude of me."

"I asked where it was you were headed," she replied softly, spurring on her pony so as to keep up with the swift pace Gandalf had set, "Although, I understand if you do not want to reveal that to me."

The wizard set his lips in a thin, considering line, and left a silence between them for a few seconds, before looking at her strangely, almost as if he were staring into her heart to determine her motives. He then forced another smile, "I am simply travelling to see some old friends my dear; that is all. I am hoping to see a young Hobbit who lives in the Shire. The Hobbits have always been fond of my fireworks."

Miluiel laughed, throwing back her autumnal curls and exposing her white throat as the sound gurgled from somewhere deep in her chest. Her mirth was infectious, for Gandalf too was soon laughing along, remembering the looks of awe and wonder on the faces of the Hobbits as they gazed at the stars and lights his fireworks created.

It was with a slightly heavy heart that he bid farewell to the young woman, waving to her mother who had spilled out of their front door on their arrival and greeted him as the old friend he was. He declined their offer of lodgings for the night, and continued on his journey to the Shire, for he had a very important meeting to get to, and it would not do for the wizard to be late. For it was this night that he would irrevocably change a life forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing other than my original characters.

**Chapter One**

It was not until weeks later that Miluiel and Gandalf were again to meet. The wizard had ridden hard to arrive at their home as quickly as he had, and his unusual demeanour which fizzed with slight panic galvanised Miluiel into action. She loaded her pack with provisions, slung her short sword at her waist and her bow at her back; she kissed her mother goodbye and touched the flat, worn stone which marked her grandfather's grave with delicate fingers, before swinging herself up into the saddle and riding away with her old friend, her cloak billowing out behind her as she clutched at his waist.

"How far into this endeavour do we have to ride until you tell me exactly what is going on?" she gasped as she forced her face up to his shoulder, screwing up her eyes against the wind whipping around them. The afternoon had fallen into dusk, and they were pounding up a well-ridden path which twisted slowly through trees. If they had been travelling at a slower pace, perhaps Miluiel would have had the time to feel afraid, but as it was, the eyes of animals and other things passed her in a blur, and all she could hear was the heaving chest of their horse, and the rhythmic hoof beats on solidly packed earth.

"We will ride until near dawn, and I only hope we are not too late," he replied, spurring the horse on as they plunged forth into the inky darkness. Miluiel shrank back into the saddle and felt worry grip her heart in its icy fingers, as tendrils of fear snaked their way through her mind.

"I've got parasites as big as my arm!"

"Mine are the biggest parasites! I've got _huge_ parasites!"

"We're riddled with them!"

Miluiel furrowed her brow as she watched Gandalf spring lightly from their horse and onto the ground, creeping around the huge boulders and carrying his staff. She could hear the tumbling yells and cries of male voices exclaiming about their parasitic insides and her stomach turned a little, but she too dismounted and made to crawl after the wizard.

Then she could hear the deep, booming voices of the trolls, and she wrinkled her nose at the smell as she approached, her nose and eyes appearing over a small boulder and catching sight of the unfolding scene. She gasped softly as she saw the three tolls – gigantic beasts covered in leathery skin, with wide eyes and a generally confused expression – as well as the dwarves, who were either trussed up in sacks or turning on a spit over the camp-fire.

"The dawn shall take you all!" The majestic bellow of the wizard caused her to whip her head around, searching for the origin of his voice. Creeping fingers of light were pushing insistently at the sky as Gandalf stood on a large boulder, holding his staff aloft in both hands. It was with an almighty crack that the boulder was split down the middle, sending the sunlight rushing into the clearing and turning the hideous trolls into stone versions of themselves, freezing them where they stood for all eternity.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she grabbed the horse's reins and clambered down into the clearing, gently hopping from stone, to tree root, to grass as quietly as she could, before catching sight of Gandalf as he helped to free the dwarves in the sacks. Those dwarves who had been turning over the fire had been knocked to the floor, spit and all, and were being untied hurriedly as she arrived, gazing up at the trolls in both disgust and wonder. She reached out a hand to touch the stone, then thought better of it and retracted the limb, just as Gandalf caught sight of her.

"Miluiel!"

Her hair flew about her head as she turned quickly, looking guiltily through her lashes as the wizard approached, but he merely touched her arm and motioned to the group. The dwarves, having righted themselves and, for the most part, thanked Bilbo Baggins – the Hobbit and resident burglar – for playing for time until Gandalf appeared, now stared openly at her. She lifted her chin slightly, looking so like her mother, and smoothed a hand over her tunic.

It was right that they should stare. What business did a woman – a dwarf woman – have, running about the countryside in trousers as a man would? She had always found that she preferred men's clothes to the frivolity of dresses and soft slippers such as maidens were usually found wearing, and trousers were easier to work in. Her grandfather had always laughed and said she should have been born a man, what with her desire to learn his craft and her excitement when he had taught her to wield a blade. Gandalf bought her thoughts crashing back to the present as he pushed her forward slightly in the small of her back.

"Miluiel Nuradrum, at your service," her voice came out as a quiet croak, and she frowned inwardly at herself. She did not wish for these men to think her a silly young girl, but her voice had definitely sounded as if she were indeed that. Her hair fell forward as she bowed slightly, and as she straightened up, she gazed unwaveringly around the group. Gandalf, meanwhile, was looking to Thorin, son of Thrain, trying to gauge his reaction to the addition to his company. The king's beetle-black brows were drawn together, and his lips were set in a straight line. His eyes met hers, and she felt the fury and the indignation, before they slid away dismissively and he turned on his heel.

He shouted to his men to find the troll hoard, as he was certain that they would have possessed one, and the group began to disperse, still staring at her as they moved in all directions. Some made their way back into the trees, she presumed to pack up their fallen belongings in their camp, and others surged forward after the angry king, searching for gold and finery as was the way of dwarves. The Hobbit, Bilbo, approached her slowly and held out a tiny hand to her.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he trilled as he shook her hand with a surprisingly firm grasp. His feet were dirty and bare, and she smiled as she noticed his hairy toes. His kindness seemed to radiate from him, as he recognised another outsider, and he reached into his pocket absently, before stopping as if with a revelation, and taking his hand out of his pocket once more.

"Does something trouble you, Master Baggins?" she asked politely, inclining her head at the small man. She stood a head taller than him, and his slightly rotund belly gave him an air of jollity which belied the soft flick of sadness in his eyes.

He signed gently and shook his head, "I know it's a very silly thing to be worrying about, what with all we've been through already on this journey, and what we're yet to encounter, but I do regret not pausing before I left my house and selecting a pocket handkerchief." He looked dejected as he forced his head up to smile at her, and it caused her heart to constrict almost painfully for the little Hobbit. Reaching behind her, she pulled her pack off her back and began to rummage deeply, tutting and sighing to herself, until her small hand closed upon something. She triumphantly yanked at a small scrap of fabric and presented it Bilbo shyly. It was a delicate handkerchief edged in lace and embroidered with a single flower. Her hand moved towards him, holding it within his reach.

"Oh no Miss, I could not accept this, it is yours!" he exclaimed quietly, yet reached out to stroke the lace gently, as if mesmerised. She thrust it at him again, and smiled a little more widely.

"Master Baggins, please. I have no need of two handkerchiefs, and it is entirely obvious that you are in desperately dire straits without one," she pushed it gently into his hand and looked on as he stroked it in wonder. How such a small thing, which had once seemed ordinary and expected, had brought him so much joy at this time on his journey.

He tucked it into the pocket of his jerkin and smiled back at the young woman before him, and touched her arm. "Thank you, Lady Nuradrum."

"Oh, I am no Lady!" she laughed, her grey eyes dancing, "I am simply Miluiel, please call me such and offer me no station, Master Baggins."

"Then you shall call me Bilbo, please, and we shall become great friends I feel," he smiled and trotted away, leaving her smiling after him and gazing around herself.

It was the cry of surprise and perhaps joy, which alerted Miluiel to the position of the rest of the group. They had all moved towards the troll hoard, and were exploring the riches they had found there. Leaving Gandalf's horse with the other ponies, she followed the excited sounds to a cave, where the dwarves had disappeared. The stench met her as if in a wall, and she wrinkled her nose again; it was harder to stomach this smell, as it was a concentrated odour, no longer punctured by the fresh, sweet air around them. Peering into the entrance of the cave, she saw the dwarves burying chests of treasure and handling the fine things with wonder, their eyes shining. Her mind fell back to the memories of her mother telling her stories of dwarves of old and their lust for creating and possessing beautiful things. Udwaline had laughingly said that it was due to the fact that dwarves themselves were not as beautiful as other races, such as elves, so they craved to surround themselves with fine jewels and shimmering metals.

Bilbo inclined his head to her as he disappeared into the mouth of the cave, and she returned the gesture and waited patiently. She did not yet know why Gandalf had seen fit to travel to her home, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, and ask that she accompany him. He had not explained his actions at all, and she felt wary around these dwarves. She could feel their stares, as if they were noticing all the minute differences between herself and their own dwarf women, and she could feel their minds whirling at the thought of her parentage.

At last, after what seemed like an indeterminate age, the dwarves began to re-emerge into the sunshine, their faces glowing. Bilbo and Gandalf were conversing quietly as they reappeared, before Gandalf moved to speak with Thorin. The king had been staring at Miluiel, his eyes dark with the mixture of feelings crashing through his mind; he did not understand her presence within his company any more that she did, and he resented the wizard for unceremoniously dumping her with them without a word of explanation. He felt that it would have been only right that the wizard ask him for some sort of permission in regards to the addition, and yet none had been forthcoming; after all, was he not the leader?

_And_, he thought venomously, _what good was a strange woman? _It was evident that she was not simply a Dwarf, and yet she was not simply an Elf or a Man either; her height conflicted with her grace, and her determined chin opposed the softness of her eyes. Gandalf interrupted his disjointed thoughts as he approached. They conversed in low tones, all the while with Thorin feeling her grey eyes staring into the back of his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing other than my original characters.

**Chapter Two**

"I am Fili," a voice said at her left elbow. She turned to the sound and opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by a similar yet different voice from her right.

"And I am Kili. We are at your service, Lady Nuradrum."

The two Dwarf men stood on either side of her, smiling at her as she looked from one to the other. Their eyes twinkled merrily as she took in their features, and something shifted in her eyes as she came to the realisation.

"You are brothers?" she asked, looking between the two. The first, slightly taller than the second, was blonde, with a short plaited beard, whilst the other was dark-haired. They both shared the same determined features as Thorin, and Miluiel made a connection, "And related to Thorin?"

The elder brother laughed, "I believe, my lady, that you are correct."

"Please, I am a simple smith's daughter, definitely not a Lady. My name is Miluiel," she replied hastily, quickly becoming tired with the insinuation that she were someone more important than was the case. The two brothers seemed to accept her into their band of travellers rather quickly, and began pointing out the other Dwarves to her by name.

"That's Dori, Nori and Ori, and Oin and Gloin," Kili pointed as his lips formed the names, casting a glance at Miluiel to see if she were following his finger.

"And Bifur and Bofur, Bombur and Balin," Fili joined in, smirking as her head darted from Dwarf to Dwarf, grey eyes wide, "There is Dwalin, talking with our uncle. They are often together, so if you cannot find one, they are usually with the other. And of course, that is our uncle, Thorin Oakenshield."

"Ah, I see," she said, wondering how she would tell each Dwarf from another. They seemed to blend into one another, all a blur of beards, cloaks and weapons. Biting her lip, she turned back to the two brothers, "And what is your purpose, travelling in this company across the land?"

At this question, the two fell silent, and Kili shifted from foot to foot, before shrugging his shoulders. Fili made to open his mouth to form some sort of explanation, but was cut short by a violent rustling of the undergrowth. The sound grew louder, as did the thundering of what felt like hundreds of feet, and the occasional cry from a human voice. Miluiel subconsciously drew closer to the mouth of the cave, intent on diving inside if the need arose. In contrast, Fili and Kili stepped forward, weapons drawn, shielding her from view; their Dwarven valour causing them to automatically protect the perceived weakest member of their group.

Several things happened at once. A sleigh, pulled by tall brown rabbits, crashed into the clearing the group were standing in, with a small man perched on the back of the wooden platform; Thorin leapt forward, with his weapons raised, followed by several other Dwarves; and Gandalf exclaimed "Radagast the Brown!" with such warmth that Miluiel felt it safe to step forward, touching the brothers lightly on their shoulders.

"Gandalf!" Radagast, a small wizard with somewhat ragged clothing and an air of accidental forgetfulness, clambered off the sleigh with surprising speed and stood before Gandalf, clutching his chest.

"My dear old friend, what on Earth are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, Gandalf. Something is wrong, something is terribly wrong! The forest, the Greenwood! Gandalf, something is awfully, terribly wrong!"

"Yes?" the grey wizard coaxed gently, raising an eyebrow at his old friend. Radagast seemed puzzled for a moment, as if forgetting the reason he had arrived, and then a flash of certainty ignited his tongue.

"The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf. A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows any more. At least, nothing good. The air is foul with decay. But worst are the webs."

Miluiel whispered softly into Kili's ear, "Who is that? What does he want?"

Kili inclined his head so she could better hear his reply, "He is one of the five wizards Gandalf told us of. He seems a little, shall we say, strange?" He leaned forward again, trying to catch a part of the conversation between the wizards. Gandalf caught this gesture and turned the other wizard away sharply by the shoulder, before turning back to the other Dwarves.

"I trust that you will make our new companion feel welcome," he called, nodding at Miluiel and continuing with his conversation with Radagast.

The other Dwarves were now all completely aware of Miluiel's presence, which may previously have gone unnoticed by a few of them not wanting to engage with the strange woman. They started to move closer to her slowly, as Fili and Kili turned again to her and began to try and strike up conversation. She smiled gently at the brothers, and Bilbo drew closer to her, patting her arm affectionately.

"And, may we ask as to your connection to our wizard?" It was Balin who spoke, with his white beard caught between his thumb and forefinger, twirling it gently as he surveyed her with interest. It was evident that she was no Dwarf, but he did not wish to cause her offence by asking a question as to her race outright.

Clearing her throat, she looked about the assembled company. All the Dwarves stared back at her expectantly, except Dwalin and Thorin, who were talking quietly together. Occasionally they glanced over at the huddle of Dwarves and Thorin wore his furrowed brow as his gaze swept over Miluiel. She was a complete conundrum to him, and he did not like it.

"My mother has known him for a long time, and he knew my grandfather. I've known Gandalf all my life; he used to visit us many times when I was younger," she replied, brushing stray tendrils of hair behind her ear. "He stayed with us a while when my grandfather died, as he did not wish my mother to be alone with only me as company. He has always been a great friend to my family, and I will always come to his aid, should he need it." She looked at each Dwarf in turn and they digested this information. Balin inclined his head thoughtfully and seemed about to ask something, when a vicious snarl ripped through the air. The hideous sound was swiftly followed by a Warg appearing on a rock just above their heads.

Miluiel let out a soft scream and backed away from the creature as it landed in the clearing; its jaws were open and the slavering maw was all she could look at, not able to tear her eyes away. It growled again and was about to lunge forth, but it was struck down by Thorin and his axe, which was buried in it skull. It lay still and the company glanced about itself, realising too late that there was another, as it let out a piercing howl. This was quickly dispatched by an arrow from Kili, who lowered his bow and looked to Miluiel, who had drawn her short blade and held it in a grip so tight, her knuckles looked as if they would burst from the skin. He placed a gentle finger on her wrist and she turned to him, her eyes wide and full of fear. Thorin observed this exchange and glowered, his fists balling at his sides, before his attention was diverted by Gandalf and Radagast. It was then that the grey wizard rounded on Thorin himself.

"Who did you tell of your quest, beyond your kin?" he asked impatiently, his power seeming to radiate from him. Thorin looked at him in disgust.

"No one!"

"Who did you tell?" the wizard insisted, seeming to swell in the small clearing.

"No one! What in Durin's name is going on?"

Gandalf paused to look around the group, the air seeming to grow oppressive as they waited in a short silence. "You are being hunted," he replied softly.

Dwalin shook himself, "We need to leave here!" he exclaimed, taking a step away from the group.

"The ponies!" Oin cried in horror, "They've bolted! What do we do?" The clamour of Dwarven panic rose as they shouted their distress. It was only a small voice which brought them all up short.

"I can draw them off," Radagast was patting the head of one of his rabbits thoughtfully and looking to Gandalf for a response. The grey wizard turned sharply and snapped at his friend, "Those are Gundabad Wargs! You cannot outrun them, they will catch you!"

Radagast smiled grimly and climbed onto the wooden platform of his sleigh, "These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I would like to see them try!" And with that proclamation, he and his rabbits charged from the clearing and broke through the trees, his whoops and cries echoing around the forest.

Gandalf looked around the assembled group, who were stunned into silence. He began to move, pushing the Hobbit and Miluiel with him as he called over his shoulder to the Dwarves.

"Run!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing other than my original characters.

**Chapter Three**

The sounds of Radagast's sleigh crashing through the undergrowth and out onto the open plain galvanised the company into action. The Dwarves began to run, their legs pumping as they were carried along on the terror. Bilbo and Miluiel were pushed into the middle of the group, as the others converged protectively around the two. The shrieks and cries of the Wargs echoed around them as they tried to slip unnoticed over the rough grass. The Orc pack flashed into view on their left, rising with the terrain as they pursued Radagast with a relentless fury; his Rhosgobel rabbits were flying over the ground, nimble and swift as the morning breeze, and he was calling to the Orc pack, taunting them so as to draw them as far away from his friend as possible.

"Stay together!" Thorin hissed to his men, skirting around a large boulder and pausing to allow them to catch up. His hand shot out and grabbed his youngest nephew's shoulder as he was about to run out from behind the gargantuan rock and into the sights of the Orc pack. The two men pressed themselves against the boulder, and Gandalf motioned for the group to move in the opposite direction, as Radagast wheeled around and headed off over the grasslands again.

As they began to move, the hideous sound of claws scraping over stone caused them to freeze; a Warg and its rider had mounted the rock and was scouting for its pack. Miluiel flattened herself against the rock, between Fili and Thorin, and her hand found the hilt of her short blade. Thorin's eyes fluttered to her terrified face, to her slim fingers curled around the sword, and back to her face, before they moved to Kili, who had stepped out of the shadow of the rock, notched an arrow and fired straight into the face of the Warg. It was killed instantly, and as it fell to the ground at their feet, the Dwarves swarmed forward to quickly dispose of the rider before its cries alerted the pack to their whereabouts.

However, it was too late. The Orc pack had heard the death-screams of their companion, and Radagast was no longer an interesting target. Sensing this, and realising that he and his rabbits were no longer useful, he took off back to the undergrowth, calling and whooping as he went, in the vain hope that the enemy may yet follow him.

"Move!" Gandalf urged the company, leading them over the plains and changing direction so many times that the Dwarves could not have found their way back to the troll hoard if they had so wished. The Wargs and their riders were hideous and terrible, with no weakening or tiring; they would not stop hunting the Dwarf Company until they were successful in ensuring their deaths.

Miluiel, not being used to such escapades, was running near the back of the company with Bilbo, her muscles burning and her lungs aching as she tried to keep pace with the rest of the group. She let out a frightened yelp as the Orc pack wheeled about and began to head towards them over the coarse ground, and she grabbed the Hobbit's hand in her own, dragging him behind her as she changed direction along with the Dwarves. Suddenly, as she looked about her, she realised that the wizard had led them into a valley, out of which there was no escape. Her heart pounded in her ears as she was backed against the muscled shoulders of a Dwarf, and she held tightly to Bilbo's hand. In her other, she had drawn her short blade, and held it out in front of her in a shaking but firm grasp. It was a terrible moment, in which she was convinced that she was going to die; however, she could faintly hear a scraping sound, and then a commanding voice sounded from behind the group.

"This way, you fools!" Gandalf cried, poking his head above a stony outcrop. His eyes were wide as he watched them stumble as quickly as they could over to him, Kili loosing arrows and Ori flipping stones from his slingshot as they moved. Thorin swung his axe down on the neck of a fallen Orc, and followed the group to the apparent safety of Gandalf's position. The wizard directed the group down a crevice behind the rock, and as the group disappeared one by one, a horn sounded from a short distance away, and thundering hooves followed. Miluiel threw herself down the stone chute after Bilbo, landing with a soft thump on her back, and rolled to the side so as to narrowly avoid being landed on by an Orc, which was pierced with pale arrows. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the creature, and moved to stand, trying to ensure that she was not in the way of any of the descending company. Thorin and Kili were the last to slide down into the dark stone chamber, and it was with disgust that the Dwarven king pulled one of the arrows from the Orc's carcass.

"Elves," he growled with a curl of his lip. Miluiel shrank slightly at his gravelly tone, and ducked behind Fili, who looked at her in concern. He touched her arm and she raised her eyes to his, before moving to Bilbo, who had landed heavily on his wrist. She cradled his hand and pulled the borrowed handkerchief from his pocket, before wrapping his hand so as to give it some support. He hissed through his teeth at the sharp pain that enveloped itself around his joint, but he smiled as she pulled away apologetically, and he thanked her softly with a bob of his curly head.

Dwalin appeared from the curve of a tunnel leading from the cavern they stood in, "I cannot see where the pathway leads; do we follow it?" The Dwarves converged on him as Bofur voiced the thoughts of the company - "Follow, of course!"

The company made their way along the path, Dwalin and Thorin in the lead, and Miluiel and Bilbo bringing up the rear. They were exhausted from their flight over uneven ground, and Miluiel felt the beginning of an insistent throb in her ankle, which had been subjected to more than a few twists and turns as they had made their escape. The pathway began to lead down in a slow descent, and the walls of the cavern began to close in on the company; before long, they were forced to side-step so as to pass through the gap safely.

At last, they made their way out onto a ledge where sunlight split over the gleaming pale surfaces like a cup overflowing with molten gold. Their voices were quieted and there were no sounds other than the laboured breaths of the Hobbit and the awed gasp from Miluiel as she gazed down upon the white city. A waterfall gurgled and splashed down in the valley, and beautiful green trees twisted upward to meet the sun. The magic and majesty of the place swept over them, as if bewitching their senses; they were powerless to resist. Thorin glanced around his company, taking in the awed expressions and the unusual silence, and he turned on Gandalf.

"This is where you were leading us?" he hissed, his voice laced with venom. The wizard only stared at the Dwarf king evenly, before their interaction was interrupted by a small voice.

"Rivendell," Bilbo gasped.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing other than my original characters.

**Chapter Four**

Everywhere was peaceful as the company gazed down around themselves; this was a place untouched by the ravages of the wild world surrounding it, and it seemed to be swathed in Elven magic that swirled and danced in the air. The white stone buildings were softened by the lacy greenery of the plant-life, and the breeze that drifted through the area was scented with the beautiful flowers that wound their way over the veranda railings that seemed to encompass everything.

Bilbo huffed out another awed breath as he stood next to Miluiel, and she grinned at the Hobbit fondly. His companionable nature had been a comfort to her in the short time she had spent with him, and it made the unfathomable journey seem less daunting; Gandalf had yet to reveal his reasoning as to why he had included her, and what part she would play in the grand scheme of the company's adventure.

"Shall we?" Gandalf held out an arm, motioning for the company to pass him and move into the Elven city before them. Thorin grimaced, before taking the lead down the stone path which wound about the edges of the settlement. His shoulders were squared with righteous indignation at the thought of seeking refuge from Elves. Elves, of all creatures! Their graceful limbs and languid movements irritated him, and their witty, elegant conversation made him feel as rough as the stone from whence his ancestors were hewn. He felt their race weak and selfish; they protected their own kin, but offered no aid to those really in need, despite the desperate pleading which should have swayed their empty hearts. Oh, how he despised the Elves!

Whilst Thorin trudged forth, expecting his company to follow with no question, Miluiel hung back a little, her eyes full of apprehension. Gandalf placed a hand in the small of her back, pushing her forward as he had in the clearing, and smiled as she turned to him. He nodded slowly as she took a step away from him, and another; suddenly, she had fallen into step with Bilbo, chewing her bottom lip nervously.

She was anxious. No, it was more than anxiety, it was fear. Fear of the reception she would receive; fear of the rejection she would most likely encounter due to her heritage. Her parentage was something that she did not discuss, and she was uncomfortable in this place which seemed as though it would have suited her absent Elven father. Her mother had never mentioned him, so it had fallen to Balel to recount their short-lived relationship, and despite his efforts to be fair, his obvious distaste for the Elf had risen like bile in the back of his throat. She, therefore, imagined what hostility would await her – a bastard child of mixed race, with no knowledge of her father other than the fireside tales she had heard from her grandfather. It was definitely fear she felt coursing through her veins, and it was most debilitating.

Miluiel was startled from her thoughts by Gandalf as he moved past her, his grey robes billowing as he strode down the line of Dwarves with purpose, and with a slight raise of an eyebrow, took Thorin's place at the head of their company.

"This is an encounter which must be handled with the utmost delicacy and tact. As such, it is I alone who shall speak with the Elves," Gandalf murmured to the Dwarf king, who reluctantly acquiesced. They descended as a controlled mass down the stone path and into a courtyard, where they were greeted by a tall Elf in deep burgundy robes. His brown hair was partly swept back from his face, exposing the pointed tips of his ears and the sharp cheekbones which made him seem almost feminine in his beauty, and the rest spilled over his shoulders in a silken stream. His brown eyes skipped over the group, before settling on the grey wizard, at whom he smiled.

"Lindir."

"Mithrandir."

"I must speak with Lord Elrond," Gandalf smiled in response to the elegant Elf.

"My Lord Elrond is not here presently, I am afraid," the Elf replied, inclining his head in deference to the wizard. Gandalf, however, did not seem as serene as the Elf standing before him, and he responded rather sharply. "Not here? But, where is he?" his voice was tinged with something akin to annoyance at his own presumption that the Elf lord would simply be waiting for their arrival, but his thoughts were interrupted by the call of a horn. Before the company could register where they had heard that familiar sound, the clattering of hooves on stone caused them to move closer together, pulling the most vulnerable members of their group to the centre. Thorin's cry - "Close ranks!" - alerted them to the danger. Kili had pushed Miluiel and Bilbo behind himself and his brother, and both stood with their weapons drawn, as did the other Dwarves. Thorin glanced over his shoulder at his nephews and furrowed his brow at the way they readily protected the strange woman, who had offered no explanation as to her purpose, or her mysterious appearance. He turned around again and cast his eyes over the Elven company that surrounded them and his heart pounded with rage.

Huge horses circled the group, drawing them ever closer to one another, and sharp Elven eyes passed over the heads of the Dwarves. A few lingered over the Hobbit, but more still hovered over Miluiel, and she ducked her head at the unwanted attention. Her auburn curls tumbled forward to hide her face, and a pale blush crept up her neck as she looked up through her lashes to find that she had huddled herself against the muscular shoulders of Kili.

"Gandalf!" a low voice sounded from above their heads, and another dark-haired Elf appeared at the head of the hunting party.

"Lord Elrond!" the wizard replied, opening his arms in a gesture of friendship and stepping forward. The two then spoke softly to one another in a strange tongue, which made Miluiel jerk her head up at the sound. Kili turned his head slightly to her and raised an eyebrow, at which she shook her head almost imperceptibly and looked past him again. This exchange did not escape the notice of the Dwarven king.

"Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or someone, has drawn them near," Elrond continued, eyeing Gandalf with ill-disguised intrigue. He smiled softly as Gandalf spread his hands apologetically.

"That may have been us, old friend," the wizard replied, stepping slightly to his left to reveal Thorin and his kin. The Dwarf king rolled his shoulders back and stood taller; despite his lack of height, his muscular frame and ill-natured glower seemed to make him grow, as though before their very eyes he seemed to fill the space vacated by the wizard.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Thorin, son of Thrain," Elrond inclined his head slightly, surveying the Dwarf and his company as they stood before him, distrust in their eyes.

Thorin stood tall and still, "I do not believe we have met."

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thrór when he ruled under the mountain," Elrond replied, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched the Dwarf bristle under his even stare.

"Indeed? He made no mention of you," the disdain was evident in his tone, despite the respect he perhaps should have shown to the Elf-lord.

Elrond smiled more widely, and turned to Gandalf; they conversed quickly in the strange language yet again, and Miluiel surmised it must be Elvish. Her heart rate increased slightly, and she strained to catch the beautiful sounds as they fell from the tongues of the two men; her movement jostled Kili's elbow as he held his bow and arrow gently, and he turned his head to her in question. She ignored this motion, and continued to try to absorb the words spoken between the old friends. Her struggling thoughts were interrupted by Gloin's indignant voice from within the group.

"What does he say? Does he offer us insult?"

"Indeed not, Master Gloin. He is offering you food," Gandalf grinned at the assembled group, and moved towards Elrond.

Shuffling ensued, as the Dwarves decided amongst themselves whether the Elf's proposition was one worth partaking in, but it was the sudden movement from Thorin which made the decision for the entirety of the company. They moved as one entity, following the Elf Lindir up a small flight of steps and into a marbled corridor, open to the elements through large archways covered in foliage.

Miluiel found herself walking between Kili and Nori, and she kept her head bowed so as to hide her face. However, her plan to stay inconspicuous was scuppered by the gracious Elf-lord, who paused at the entrance to a small courtyard which had been prepared for their arrival. Long tables were laden with food and drink, and soft music was playing, the notes drifting lazily on the evening air.

"Perhaps the lady would like to refresh herself? Itarilde can escort you," he asked gently, his voice soft and kind as his eyes found hers. A blonde-haired Elf-maiden appeared at his side. Miluiel looked up at him through her lashes nervously, then looked to Gandalf. The wizard, in turn, watched Thorin, who glowered and turned away from her, his shoulders hunched in silent irritation.

Miluiel frowned at the Dwarf king's reaction, her lips pursing in confusion. Suddenly, anger welled up from her stomach and she felt almost devilish, as she turned back to Elrond.

"That would be most kind, my lord," she replied, dipping her head. Gandalf smiled inwardly and watched as Thorin snorted derisively and marched towards the heavily-laden table, ignoring Miluiel as she followed the Elf-maiden up a flight of steps and out of sight.

The Dwarf king felt rather than saw her leave them, and he clenched his jaw. His anger swelled in his heart, and as he approached the table, his fists were balled at his sides. He shrugged off his furs and sat near the head of the table, swinging himself into a seat as his company scrambled to find themselves a place to eat. His eyebrows knitted together, and his surly silence caused Gandalf to chuckle to himself; it amused him to see Thorin so irritated by the actions of another, especially someone whom he had met mere days previously.

Meanwhile, Miluiel followed Itarilde down a few corridors, her head swivelling to catch glimpses of everything as she passed other Elves, elegant sculptures and decorated rooms, before she was halted abruptly by the Elf-maiden, who had stopped in front of a carved wooden door. Selecting a key from a bunch, which she drew from inside her robes, she unlocked the door and swung it inward, revealing a pale walled room with a vaulted ceiling. Soft voices echoed from somewhere, and Miluiel gasped at the ornately carved bed, on which a dress was laid out. She crossed the room hesitantly, before laying her hand on the delicate material and caressing the dress gently.

"It is for you, my lady," Itarilde's musical voice brought Miluiel's mind to the present, and she withdrew her hand as if she had been burned by the silken material.

"Oh, please, my name is Miluiel."

Itarilde laughed softly as the guest moved her hand absently over the beautiful dress again. An inner door opened, revealing a gleaming copper bath and two more Elves, both of whom were blonde and as beautiful as Itarilde. They moved silently into the room, and held out their hands for Miluiel's dirty clothing. Looking down at herself, she suddenly felt ashamed of bringing such ugliness into the Last Homely House, and into the presence of such astonishing creatures. Their tall, willowy grace made her feel short and dumpy, as if she were an animal that had been brought in from the wilds. One of the silent Elves pointed to a modesty screen situated next to the bath, and smiled gently as Miluiel slipped behind it and shed her tunic and leggings shyly.

Moving quickly, covering herself with her splayed fingers, Miluiel slid into the bath and groaned at the warmth of the water, which felt like heaven on her skin. Her bruised ankles felt healed, and her tight muscles slowly began to relax as she sighed happily, before sliding below the water and letting the tendrils of moisture wash away the dirt of her journey.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing other than my original characters.

**Chapter Five**

Thorin was still staring moodily down at his plate, pushing the greenery around with a fork and thinking sullen thoughts, when Miluiel reappeared, seemingly well rested and revived after her bath and change of clothing. The storm grey silken material of the dress fell in soft drapes around her slim figure, emphasising her large eyes. The neckline exposed her collarbones, and the sleeves ran all the way to her tiny wrists. The Elf-maidens had combed through her russet curls, and they shone in the dusky light from the steadily rising moon and reflected the flickering tongues of the torches which lit the courtyard. Pausing shyly on the steps leading up to the company, Miluiel searched quickly for an empty seat, before settling on the place between Bilbo and Fili. She ascended as if she were floating, her small feet moving daintily over the polished stone floor.

"Miluiel! You look beautiful," Bilbo smiled up at her as he rose to his feet, helping her into her seat and gesturing to the still laden table. She thanked him quietly and turned to smile at Fili, who had dropped his fork with a clatter onto the stone floor. All the Dwarves had momentarily ceased their grousing as to the lack of meat at their table, and were all gazing openly at Miluiel as she arranged her skirt about her legs and smoothed the material nervously. She was conscious of the many eyes, and she felt a heat creep over her chest as they inspected her soft features, her large eyes and her gentle beauty.

She smiled shyly, and began to gather food onto her plate, hopelessly trying to ignore the curious stares as she speared a green leaf.

"Aye lassie, you look a treat," Balin grinned at her from across the table, "I'm afraid the food leaves a little to be desired for us; we have all been searching for the meat!"

Ori leaned forward furtively, trying not to catch the attention of any of the Elves who were singing and playing music as they dined. He glanced about himself, then cleared his throat. "Have they got any chips?"

Miluiel snorted and laid down her fork, shaking with silent giggles. The other Dwarves looked upon her almost fondly, and Bofur cuffed Ori on the shoulder.

Thorin glowered silently at his kin as they laughed and talked with the strange woman – her name, Elvish in origin, made his tongue feel like lead as he spoke it – and he stabbed viciously at his plate. Here, in this place, she seemed different, as if she belonged in a place filled with splendour and light. An errant thought flashed through his mind; _I could not provide her with such beauty_. As quickly as it had flitted into his brain, it vanished, and he was left festering in his own irrational anger as he watched the gaiety with which his company conversed between themselves.

Breaking through his reverie, Gandalf placed a hand on his arm and motioned for him to follow. There was a separate table which was set back from the rest of the party, where the Elf-lord was already seated. Thorin swung himself upright and wordlessly followed the wizard, his sword swinging at his side. Elrond nodded to him as he sat down, and motioned to his blade; Thorin unbuckled the weapon and handed it to him reluctantly, his brow furrowed as he watched the Elf's long fingers trace the lettering which ran down the blade.

"This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin. May it serve you well." Elrond smiled slightly as he passed it back to Thorin, who almost snatched at it, so as to return it to his waist. The Dwarf king had the grace to blush gently as he fastened his belt. Gandalf held out his own sword from the troll hoard to Elrond, his robes fluttering in the soft evening breeze.

"This is Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer. Sword of the king of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin wars of the first Age," his fingers traced the hilt with an almost wistful air, before passing it back to the wizard. It was then that the Elf-lord rose, followed by Gandalf, Thorin, Balin and Bilbo, and they disappeared into the relative gloom of one of the many rooms in the Last Homely House.

Meanwhile, the other Dwarves had moved from the tables set for them, and had somehow discovered sustenance more suited to their palate. They were congregated on the stone floor of the courtyard or perched on stools, tossing food to one another and talking quietly, as is the way of Dwarves. Their propensity for mistrust had moulded their communications, and as such, they could be found muttering and whispering amongst themselves, careful to guard any secrets from those outside their trusted circle. Somehow, a large fire had been cultivated; the company were gently toasting various food over the flickering, fiery tongues as they talked and laughed together.

"You do look lovely," Ori whispered to Miluiel, his cheeks flushing as she smiled at him and brushed her shoulder against his for a few seconds, her contact causing his tongue to dry and stick to the roof of his mouth. Being as young as he was, he had not had any real experience with females, in any way, and Miluiel was the first woman he had been in such close proximity to, besides his own kin. It terrified him, seeing her as this ethereal creature who seemed to float on the scented air around them, and he decided in his own, sweetly childish way, that he preferred her as she had first come to their company, dressed in her tunic and leggings. Her dirty boots had made him smile, and her unkempt, wild hair reminded him of flames as they danced in a soft breeze.

"Thank you, Ori. If truth be told, I prefer my own clothes, but the Elves have been so kind that I didn't have the heart to refuse their beautiful dress," she grinned impishly at him and turned away, accepting the proffered sausage from Bofur. The Dwarf in question then tossed another sausage to Bombur, who was perched on a delicately carved table; it gave a sudden groan and the splintering of wood rent the air, before the red-headed Dwarf tumbled to the ground, crushing what was left of the intricate furniture.

Laughter filled the dim evening air as the luckless dwarf glanced about himself in confusion, and then returned to his bowl with a merry grin. It was to this scene that Thorin returned.

Dwalin watched his King as he moved slowly around outer edge of the Company, his fingers laced together in contemplation, before coming to a halt behind Bombur and the ruined table.

"We shall stay for a while, to rest. Stay together, and do not wander in this strange place; do not let the Elven magic take hold of your senses," his voice was a deep growl as he met the eyes of them all. He lingered for a moment on Miluiel, holding her gaze for a second too long, before sliding his eyes to Dwalin. The loyal Dwarf understood the unspoken command, and rose to his feet. Miluiel watched as he moved through the group and to Thorin's side in a surprisingly graceful manner, before the two of them wandered a short way from the others and began to converse in low tones, as they were wont to do, with Balin joining them shortly after.

Dori nudged Miluiel's shoulder gently, and gestured to a neatly placed bed roll near the smouldering fire, "I think it best to leave them to themselves lassie, and try to get some rest."

She smiled gratefully at him and made to settle down, drawing the blanket over herself to retain her body heat. Her cloak had been deftly folded as a makeshift pillow, and for the first time since the early dawn, she realised how truly tired she was; it lightly skittered across her mind as to how tired the Dwarves must be, and she felt a small, almost guilty feeling tug at her stomach. She had wandered into this journey with no idea as to why she had been included, and the only things she knew of the Company's plight was the recollections of fireside tales from her grandfather. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest as she looked over the group with half-closed eyes, thinking of how lost they must be feeling, and how terrifying it must be for them, to have the future of their kin resting on their shoulders, and on the success of their quest.

The last thought that wound about her tired mind like smoke from a pipe was that of Thorin; the taciturn, cantankerous Dwarf King had unsettled her with his piercing gaze, and despite the irritation that seemed to roll from him in waves, he had deigned to allow her to stay with them.

Perhaps, Miluiel thought in a startling moment of clarity, she was coming to wonder about him in more than a politely interested way.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing other than my original characters.

**Chapter Six**

Thorin was unsettled. His thoughts charged past one another, jostling to the forefront of his brain, demanding his attention, before slinking away like mist from the brow of a hill at dawn. It irked him, the presence of the strange woman, and his temper was not improved when he observed the Company's apparent attachment to her, especially in such a short while. He could understand the younger Dwarves falling under her spell, due to their naivety, but even Balin seemed to accept her into the group. He was unsure as to the origin of her magic, but he was convinced of its existence; how else could she captivate their attention so?

His mind strayed to the image of her face, with the resolute jaw line and the soft eyes; he had caught himself mentally tracing the planes of her face in moments of weakness during the day, for that was what it surely was, and he despised himself for it. That witch thought she had him under a spell! His teeth ground together as he mulled over what he knew of her, which amounted to very little.

Damn that wizard and his schemes! All he had divulged was the simple notion that she would be of use to their campaign, and as such, Thorin was to keep her with them, and to keep her safe. He had not wanted the Hobbit to tag along with them, let alone this oddity! He had no idea as to her lineage – she was too refined to be a Dwarf, and yet her height suggested that she was no Elf either. She was certainly not of the race of Men, as even Thorin could admit to her beauty, albeit grudgingly. So his mind had formed the opinion that she was a witch – a sorceress! – and not to be trusted.

"Thorin," Dwalin rumbled, piercing the King's angry reverie with his deep voice, "What troubles you so?"

He did not answer, choosing instead to cast his eyes over the Company, who were settling into their bed rolls for the night and slowly beginning to unfurl their tightly wound nerves. He felt the responsibility rest heavy on his shoulders; he could see the trust and loyalty in their eyes, and the silent expectation that he and he alone would be the one to lead them into battle, to reclaim Erebor and their birth right.

"I do not trust the woman," Thorin replied, keeping his voice soft and low to thwart eavesdroppers. He searched the sleeping forms for a flash of her auburn hair, and was faintly surprised to see her sleeping so close to the fire, next to Dori. Another Dwarf won over by her mysterious charm.

Balin sighed, clapping a hand to the King's shoulder, "I think that Gandalf would not have insisted that she remain with us, if there were no good reason. We must trust in him, Thorin. She may yet prove herself as part of our Company."

Thorin curled his lip in disgust, shaking his head and causing his braids to whip about his face angrily. He could see no use in the woman, and he cursed the wizard again for saddling him with her. In moments of danger, he had caught her clasping that toothpick of a sword with a shaking hand, and he snorted derisively at the memory; surely she did not think that she could fight! He had visions of repeatedly snatching her from the clutches of disaster during their journey and sighed, before her face flashed before his eyes once again. Her arched eyebrows framed those gentle eyes – too gentle for the wilds of the world, he thought – and her mouth, with the bottom lip which looked almost too full as it bowed over her teeth in a small smile. Her hair curled about itself in a tumble of autumnal colours, reminding him of falling leaves, and he had noted, somewhat absently, that her tresses held no braids. He would have expected at least courting braids, due to the fact that she was a woman more than anything, but also because of the loveliness of her face. Then his mind clicked, like a lock opening. Perhaps she were not courting due to her beauty, for it was not a Dwarven splendour which graced her; she was too fine for a Dwarf. Perhaps others had noticed this and slunk away with trepidation, as Dwarves do not trust easily, and do not like to be fooled. An errant thought – _I would not leave such a countenance to be snatched up by another_ – curled about him cautiously, before he dashed it away and returned to his earlier tirade against the tiresomely tricky wizard.

Balin and Dwalin watched as he paced in front of them, evidently upset. They had known him since he was a boy, a young Dwarfling who hung on the words of his elders as if they were speaking the words of the great Aulë himself. He had been idealistic and passionate, and had possessed the same rambunctious yet impossibly adorable nature as his nephews, the sons of his sister Dis. It pained both the brothers to see their King consumed by anger and hatred, his handsome features twisted into the sour expression he always wore; he was yet young, and they feared that the burden of his title was beginning to take its toll.

"I think we should away to bed laddie," Balin touched his forearm gently, and motioned to the carefully placed bed rolls which still lay empty, before heading towards one himself. The old Dwarf lowered himself down to the ground and flicked his blanket over his legs, casting a look over the still-upright Dwarves before rolling over and closing his eyes. It was not in his nature to allow his King to suffer, but this conundrum of the mysterious woman was one which Thorin would have to puzzle through on his own.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Seven**

Miluiel was unsure which woke her from slumber, the pale fingers of dawn tugging at her eyelids, or the hushed sound of voices coming from somewhere to her left. She opened her eyes to half-slits and surveyed the sleeping Dwarves, many of whom were snoring gently to themselves. All were accounted for, except Thorin, but she simply ignored this fact, deciding instead to investigate the mysterious whispers.

She sat up slowly, brushing her hair from her face, and turned to the sound. As her grey eyes settled on the source of the noise, she let her breath out in a whoosh; there, at the edge of the courtyard, stood three Elves, who were discussing the Company at length, it seemed. Their musical voices played on the breeze, and despite not understanding their words, Miluiel could gather that they were comparing the Dwarves rather unfavourably to themselves. They surveyed her blankly, their lovely faces betraying nothing of their thoughts, and departed swiftly, making no noise on the polished stone.

"Think nothing of it lassie," Balin said softly from his bed roll. He too had been woken by the soft voices, and was sitting cross-legged and eyeing her with an amused expression.

"But, they were laughing at us!" she replied indignantly, preferring to refer to herself in terms of the Dwarves than placing her allegiance with those beautiful creatures. She snorted and furrowed her brow, feeling slighted.

Balin chuckled indulgently, "Aye lass, they were. But, they were but children, and allowances should be made when taking in the hospitality of their Lord." His diplomacy quietened Miluiel, and she felt childish annoyance wash over her. It put her in foul spirits.

Her eyes swept over the Company again, and alighted on Thorin's empty bed roll, just as Balin caught the object of her gaze. Her eyebrows were drawn together, and the generous mouth turned down.

"I would pay that no mind either," he said conspiratorially, "Thorin is not quick to trust, and you came into our Company with so little explanation. He does not understand your purpose with us, and Gandalf has not illuminated the situation."

Miluiel ran a small hand over her face and huffed out another breath, chewing her bottom lip and finding a sudden interest in the foliage surrounding the courtyard veranda. "I have no idea as to why Gandalf came to our home. I did not feel there was time to ask questions of him, and have had no opportunity since. I apologise for my intrusion, as I know I am probably seen as a burden," she paused, smiling wryly at the old Dwarf. He chuckled again, a good-natured, fatherly sound, and nodded.

"Perceptive, I see," he replied. He stretched his arms above his head and grinned at the popping sound of his joints, before rising to his feet and gathering the fallen firewood strewn about the dying embers. Stoking it gently, he raised a small flame and smiled, content to sit in silence with the strange young woman.

She, however, was curious.

"Balin," she began in a wheedling tone as she knelt beside him, her hair twisting in a curtain of glinting colour over her shoulders. He watched her carefully as she scanned his face, taking in the deeply etched lines and furrows, but also the light in his merry eyes, and she continued carefully. "I was wondering if you could tell me what **you** are doing here, on this quest."

"Well lass, I am here to accompany my King. I have sworn my allegiance to him and the kingdom, as have a few others. Some are here for the adventure, some are here because they feel it is their duty, and some are simply here as they could not stand living as they have been doing. But we are all here because we love our home, and wish to reclaim the land which is rightfully ours. How much do you know about Erebor? I assume your grandfather must have told you some tales?" His white eyebrows were drawn together as she shuffled into a comfortable position and held her fingers towards the now-established flames.

"Grandfather told me of Smaug, the Fire Drake from the North. He used to talk of the devastation of Dale, and all those who were killed; but he didn't mention it much, not even to Mother. Does he still live, the dragon?" She turned to him with wide grey eyes as she asked her question, her skin paling at the thought. A dragon was a terrible thing, evil and selfish, driven by avarice and a destructive desire for all things beautiful in the world; Miluiel had heard of the terror that was Smaug and shivered at her memories.

"Well lassie, we would hope that he has perished in the sixty years that he has remained hidden, but I fear that is too much to hope for," Balin smiled, patting the back of her hand gently and swinging a pot over the now leaping flames. Miluiel frowned again, her nose wrinkling like that of a confused child, and she cocked her head to the side. Her eyebrows were raised slightly as she surveyed the still sleeping Dwarves, and Balin took this time to take in her appearance, unnoticed by her.

She was beautiful, the whole company could admit to that, and he felt the corners of his mouth turn upward when she curled her lips in annoyance, as it was something he recalled about her grandfather, whom he had known in youth. Balel had been a great smith, forging some of the most desirable weapons of Erebor, before the great dragon Smaug had laid waste to the kingdom and he had fled with his daughter. His lovely wife had perished in the flames, and Balin felt sure that his old friend was tormented by his wife's last moments until the day of his passing. Udwaline had been a beautiful and sturdy Dwarf woman, as her mother before her; Balin could reconcile his memories of that young Dwarfling in the woman before him, with her russet curls and determined jaw, which jutted forward slightly to highlight her irritation. Her eyes, however, were something he could not fathom. They were nothing like the dark brown of Balel, and he distinctly remembered Udwaline to have possessed eyes of a sparkling green, so the misty grey of Miluiel's eyes confused him.

"Thorin doesn't like being here, does he?" she said suddenly, breaking the old Dwarf out of his reverie. He shook his head wordlessly and turned back to the fire, just as their leader reappeared.

Miluiel sat straighter on the bed roll, drawing her small hands to her lap and biting her generous lower lip. She was waiting for the derisive curl of his lip, and the slanting of his eyes at her presence, but neither was forthcoming. Rather, he motioned to Balin with a tip of his head, and moved to the edge of the group, pulling Dwalin with him.

"I'll be seeing you later lassie," Balin said softly, smiling at her as he pushed himself to his feet and began to pick his way between the blankets. She was vaguely surprised by his graceful movements, and she smiled as she too got to her feet. She wandered away, towards the opposite side of the courtyard to gaze out over the wonders of Imladris, and to ponder the mystery that was Thorin Oakenshield.

It wasn't long before she decided to explore the glistening pale city as it sprawled lazily over the landscape, its wonders hidden shyly behind curtains of greenery. The many elegantly carved homes peeped through the shafts of dazzling sunlight, as a maid would peer through her lashes at a handsome young suitor, smiling coyly with laughter playing upon pink lips. Her heart felt lightened in this softly beautiful place, and picking her way through the corridors to peer into decorated rooms made her soul sing to its splendour. Miluiel was not a vain woman, as years of working away in the forge had stripped away what little feminine trickery she may have had, but she could feel the eyes of the glorious Elves boring into her skin as she moved about. She had been given a few dresses, all beautiful and elegant in design, which made her feel both stunningly clumsy and hesitantly attractive.

In her wanderings, her feet had brought her to what seemed a small room in comparison to the surrounding splendour, but it was this small room which was most interesting. Its walls were pale and smooth, and circling the edges were stacks of books and papers, piled both high and low which gave the impression of a jumbled mind.

"May I help you, my dear?"

Miluiel leapt in fright, her small hands flying to her face as she felt the blush creep over her skin and she turned abruptly to face Gandalf. The wizard was accompanied by Lord Elrond, who was smiling gently. Her russet curls clashed horribly with her pink face as she stood before the two men with her heart pounding in her chest.

"I did not touch anything," she said softly, "I was simply wondering who such a room would belong to. It seems so…" her tongue grappled for a word which would encompass how different the room was. It was a mess! It was a complete contrast to the tastefully decorated areas in the rest of the Elven city, and it seemed a conundrum to her as to what self-respecting Elf would allow such untidiness to be displayed.

Gandalf began to chuckle in his throaty, reassuring way, "Miluiel, it is the study which I have graciously been allowed to keep as my own here in Imladris." He grinned conspiratorially at her as her realisation clouded her lovely grey eyes. She smiled then, softly at first, before the beam split her small face into the beauty Gandalf had long recognised as that of an Elven maiden, in some part at least.

It had always pained him to think of her not knowing her heritage, and not knowing of the kind, gracious Elf who had fathered her. He was a strong character, one who could be relied upon in the most dangerous of times to be steadfast and stoic; he also had a childlike wonder of the world about him, and yearned for a knowledge which would become his privilege in his elder years. Gandalf saw the best of her Elven father in her, and at that moment he resolutely decided that she must not know of him. Not yet, and not from any other than the Elf himself.

And with that, the wizard drew her away, choosing instead to show her the gardens and libraries of Rivendell, uncovering many small wonders which made her eyes shine in her lovely face. She was full of wonder and an as yet unknown grace, which made his heart glad. For she would become a vital member of their company, and an ideal foil for the treacherously angry Dwarf prince with whom they travelled; it was simply a matter of getting Thorin to recognise this, which seemed a daunting task.

Oh, how Gandalf cursed the stubbornness of Dwarves!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Eight**

The day had continued much as the ones before, with the Dwarf Company keeping to themselves and recovering from their journey as it had been so far; only Miluiel felt comfortable in this ethereal place, and had taken to wandering during parts of the day. But never again was she able to find the small, cluttered room of Gandalf's, despite feeling a strange pull in her chest which seemed to want her to explore the dusty tomes he had within.

It had come to early evening time, with the group amassed around their fire and talking in low voices between themselves. Miluiel had noted that none of them spoke in Khuzdul, for fear of the elves hearing it; Dwarves were notorious for their protective instincts towards their own language, and Balel had often told of Dwarves who would rather remain speechless than reveal a single word of the ancient tongue.

"We'll be leaving with the dawn," Balin whispered softly to Miluiel as they sat by the fire. She cocked her head at him, a question darting over her features, before Bilbo shook his curly head.

"We're leaving? So soon? But… What of Gandalf? Should we not wait for him?" The triumph that lit his eyes made Balin grin, before shaking his head to answer.

"No, Master Hobbit. Thorin wishes to leave as soon as possible; time marches on, and we must reach Erebor before Durin's Day." The white haired Dwarf heaved himself from the ground with a soft creak of old joints, before joining another small group of their company to inform them of the newest plan from the Dwarf prince. Miluiel watched him leave with a wrinkled brow, before snorting in derision.

"Leaving so soon with only take us half of the way on this blasted quest of theirs, and end with us having no supplies I'll bet! And then of course, there's the idea that we leave behind a wizard. Of all things to discard so readily as spoiled fish, a _wizard_ should not be one!" Her russet curls shook as she snorted again; she began stuffing her clothes into her pack angrily, all of which had been kindly laundered by the elves of Rivendell. She felt a heavy sense of disappointment and regret settle in her stomach at the thought of leaving the city without so much as an inkling of their plans being made plain to their hosts. In her mind, the Dwarf prince was doing nothing to dispel the almost universal opinion that Dwarves were a selfish and inconsiderate race, with no regard for the feelings of others. It bothered her, like a fly on a summer's day bothers the grazing cattle, that they could not say goodbye to those who had been kind enough to take them in, despite their less than stellar arrival. The company brought an Orc pack to the borders of these soft creatures, who welcome them with kindness and compassion, and yet they were to slope off into the coming dawn like wolves into the shadows, with no thanks being given.

"This plan irks you, Miluiel?" Bilbo put a hand softly on her arm, his brown eyes large in the coming darkness.

"Does it not you?" she replied, her grey eyes narrowed as she surveyed the group, no doubt trying to pick out the silhouette of the prince, with his furs draped around his shoulders, to better convey her annoyance with a hearty glare. She shook her head again, her curls bouncing about her face. She flapped her hand ineffectually at them before tucking a few strands behind her ears, which Bilbo noted were tiny and delicate, much opposed to those of the Dwarves around him.

"Supper is served!" Bombur called, gesturing to the gently simmering pot over the fire. Tendrils of steam floated over the surface, and the herbs and spices hung in the evening air. Fili and Kili jostled to the front of the quickly-forming queue, holding out their wooden bowls with glee. Their faces mirrored each other as they began spooning the stew into their mouths, their eyes glazing dreamily as they ate. Bilbo and Miluiel waited until the others had taken their fill, before approaching the pot and ladling smaller portions into their own bowls. Something Bilbo had realised during his short time with the Dwarves was that however much others assumed that Hobbits ate; Dwarves could knock it into a cocked hat with their healthy appetites.

Miluiel noted somewhat absently that Balin had disappeared from the group, and both Dwalin and Thorin hadn't been seen all afternoon. She assumed that the three of them were off somewhere secluded discussing the journey ahead, their plans concerning the dragon Smaug, and of course their undoubtedly low opinions of their Elven hosts. She sighed through her nose, causing Kili to glance at her and cock his head. Fili looked to his brother and followed his gaze before he began to smile. They both rose as one and dropped themselves down either side of Miluiel, smacking their lips over the last of their meal.

"What makes the fair lady frown so?" Fili asked, jostled her left arm playfully.

"I fear it may be our dear uncle," Kili grinned, his eyebrows almost touching his dark hairline as he jostled her right arm. She looked between the two for a few moments, before quirking her lips into a smile and dropping her spoon into her now-empty bowl with a clatter that made a few of the Dwarves look over. Bilbo smiled; he liked watching the young brothers interact with Miluiel, as he saw their genuine kindness and jollity. He preferred it to the wariness from some of the other Dwarves, the stony silence from Dwalin, or the haughty derision of their leader. Her grey eyes lit up when talking to the mischievous brothers and her mouth was more often curled upward.

"I am simply cautiously anticipating the rest of our journey," she replied, her curls bobbing with her words. She tucked the errant strands behind her ears again, sighing softly as they simply fell forward again.

Kili looked past her to Fili, and then back at Miluiel, his brow furrowing. "Has no one ever braided your hair for you? It seems to be bothering you, just loose as it is."

"No, I've never learnt how to braid; my mother refused to teach me and simply drew it back for me with a leather strap. However, when Gandalf arrived as he did, my first thought was not to ask for a moment to preserve my vanity," she grinned, flicking the mass of autumnal colour over one shoulder.

"What about your friends? Did they not braid your hair for you?" Fili looked flabbergasted, as if he could not imagine anyone not having many friends with whom to while away the days of childhood.

Miluiel shrugged her elegant shoulders and made a face, "There weren't many children who wanted to play with me when I was young, so I amused myself with my grandfather's work. I spent much of my time in his forge with him, and as soon as I was strong enough to wield a hammer, he taught me his trade. After that, I didn't really have enough time to appreciate my lack of social interaction."

Fili and Kili both looked at each other dramatically, their eyebrows pulled down and eyes widened to give them an air of melancholy. They seemed to converse between themselves with barely a look, before turning back to Miluiel in unison.

"We shall braid your hair," they pronounced together, both of them appearing exceptionally pleased with themselves.

Miluiel looked sceptical as they rearranged themselves to sit facing either side of her head. She was instructed to keep her head still, to ensure that the braids would stay tight.

"Will Thorin not ask who braided my hair? Isn't this a fairly important thing to Dwarves?" she asked, her eyes wide as she tried to glance from one brother to another. They both steadied her head gently and began to select pieces of hair, before running them through their fingers.

"He probably wouldn't notice Miluiel, and it must be annoying with all this hair hanging in your face! Especially in poor weather; we ran through a patch of terrible rain before meeting you, and with a wizard in our midst! He did nothing to quell the raging sky, I can tell you!" Kili sounded so indignant that Miluiel let out a gurgle of laughter.

Her shoulder shook as she tried to quieten herself before replying. "Oh Kili! Wizards are powerful surely, but no one can control the weather! And who would want to? The changing seasons bring the weather that is needed for the earth to replenish itself. Did you tell Gandalf that you wished for him to command the rain to stop?" she giggled again, trying to picture the company of outraged Dwarves being told that rain is a law unto itself. The younger of the brothers simply huffed in reply, before reaching around the back of her head to join his braid with Fili's.

"There you are!" Fili said, looking pleased with their creation. "They will show that we are friends of yours now, see? We've tried to make them look a little like ours!" And he flicked his finger under the braids in his beard, causing them to bounce gaily as the beads caught the light of the fire.

She cautiously raised a hand and felt along the plaited hair to where it met behind her head and she smiled, another laugh escaping from her lips and causing the brothers to grin happily. They then both turned as one being and looked at Bilbo, their eyes lit wickedly by the dying embers.

"Oh brother, we would not want our burglar to feel that he was not our friend," Fili began, shifting his body with ill-disguised glee.

"Of course not; he is as much a part of the company as we are; it's in his contract!" Kili agreed, beginning to rise from a cross-legged position. Bilbo eyed them both with barely concealed terror, before leaping to his hairy feet.

"I'll just go and wash the bowls then shall I? Hmm, better had, wouldn't want the stew to congeal," he said, his voice chattering through his teeth as he tried to get away from the laughing trio.

Their merriment caught the attention of Thorin as he returned with Balin and Dwalin. He stared across as his nephews laughed and talked with the girl and the hobbit, both of whom he had deemed unnecessary and unworthy for his quest. It irked him that the boys were so easily won over by a pretty face, for he could not deny her beauty, however much he cursed it. Then something caught his eye as she turned her head, and it caught his breath in his throat.

Her hair had been braided.

His stomach plummeted as he tried to assess the intricacy of the plaited hair from a distance, but between the deepening dusk and the dancing embers of the campfire, he could not distinguish the patterns. He strode over to the four of them as they sat cross-legged on the ground, and stood until he had their attention. A hush fell over the courtyard as the other Dwarves saw Thorin, his hands on his hips as he waited for silence from his nephews, the Hobbit and Miluiel.

"Ah Uncle, we…" Kili's voice faded away as he saw the anger flash in Thorin's eyes. From his vantage point above her, he could ascertain that the braids were in fact of the friendship variety, and that both of them were similar but slightly different. The brothers must have done one each, and then brought them together at the back of her head. If he hadn't been so angry, he might have appreciated the way that the difference in the braids mirrored the differences in the brothers, and yet despite their differences, they were always found to be together in the end. As it was, it was all that he could do to contain his ire.

"You should all rest, for we rise early on the morn," he snapped; his voice held a quality of silk being pulled over coal, rough and yet smooth.

The brothers rose as one and bowed to Miluiel, before turning to Bilbo and tipping their heads at him. Bilbo excused himself away to his bedroll which lay a few feet away, which he crawled onto without looking back. Miluiel, however, continued to stare up at Thorin just as he stared down at her, their expressions of annoyance mirrored in the other's eyes. It was Miluiel who broke the frosty silence, as she sighed softly and dropped her eyes to her lap, before uncurling her legs and staggering to her feet. She had spent longer than she thought with her legs crossed beneath her, and as a result, her limbs had forgotten how to cooperate with her brain. Thorin simply stared after her whilst she moved to her bedroll, situated between Bilbo and Bofur.

He supposed that he would never understand the stubbornness of women, and he snorted at the very notion that he would wish to understand anything about the young lady, regardless of how mildly intriguing he found her small features, or how faintly absorbing she was to watch as she talked. No, he had decided that she was to be of no use to the company, and until something drastic happened that meant she could alter this opinion, it was how he would think of her. Perhaps he would try simply not thinking of her at all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Nine**

The day dawned with a bright grey sky overhead, and a swift breeze which chilled the skin. Miluiel had woken before most of the company had stirred from their dreams, and had managed to pack away the last of her things, before beginning with their fire. She quickly dismantled the cooking pot, laying down the components quietly, before scooping the ashes into a well-ordered pile and neatly collecting together the dry wood they had not used. She absently brushed her fingers to her forehead as she looked over the sleeping Dwarves, smiling as her eyes skipped over the hunched forms of Fili and Kili, before she locked eyes with a thunderous Thorin.

He was sitting atop his bedroll, fists clenched around the mouth of his pack as he angrily stuffed his belongings inside. His eyes had been drawn to the fluttering movements of her pale hands; his interest had been piqued as he watched her, which in turn caused his annoyance to rise at his own awareness of her. What was she to him? A simple inconvenience and nothing more, yet why was he watching her? Why did he find secret enjoyment in seeing the way the dappled light melted over her slim fingers, and how she cocked her head when she smiled? What was so intriguing about the way her hair moved in an autumnal curtain about her shoulders? And why was he so enamoured with her, even with a dirty streak of ash dust upon her brow?

He watched her as she finished tidying their dead fire and looked about herself, catching sight of a small smile when she encountered his nephews' sleeping forms. It was then that her grey eyes had bobbed up to meet his own, and inwardly he sucked in a breath. The dark lashes that ringed her eyes made the pale grey irises stand out in her bleak little face, her expression morphing from contentment, to faint horror, and settling into mild disinterest in a matter of seconds. She was the first of them to avert her gaze, deciding instead to reach out one of her slim hands and connect with the nearest sleeping Dwarf, prodding them awake.

Thorin turned to the form lying next to him and jostled the muscular shoulder quickly, bringing Dwalin forth from the land of dreams with a loud snort.

"Eh?" he said, brushing spittle from his lower lip and sitting up quickly. "Oh, still with the blasted tree-huggers, are we?"

Thorin's lips quivered, before his expression diverted back to annoyance, "Wake the others. We should be on our way soon."

Miluiel had been prodding the Dwarves during this exchange, so half of the company were already surfacing. They flexed their stiff joints and rubbed their sleep-filled eyes, before sitting up and collecting their belongings together.

The night before, Bombur had had the presence of mind to prepare their breakfasts, and began distributing bread and cheese, along with a few cold sausages, into eagerly awaiting hands. Miluiel gratefully took her ration and sank her white teeth into the sausages, before wrapping her bread and cheese in a handkerchief and putting it in her pack for later. She felt sure that there would be a time when she would find need of the extra food, if not for herself then certainly for one of the hungry company surrounding her.

Her brow had furrowed as she heard the Elves described so delicately as 'tree-huggers', but she felt no desire to comment on the disrespectful terminology, especially as their leader seemed to be in foul spirits that morning. As with every other morning, she supposed quietly to herself.

Having eaten their fill, the Dwarves began to stand, heaving heavy packs on their backs and moving about together. Thorin had been on his feet for a while, conversing in low tones with his two resident advisors, before he turned to the group en masse.

"We leave now. Be swift and as silent as you can, there is no need for our hosts to know of our departure," his voice dripped with ill-concealed disdain, and his eyes fell on Miluiel, as if she would be the one to crash about loudly and shout their intentions to all the Elves of Middle-Earth without a second thought. She rolled her eyes and offered her hand down to Bilbo, heaving him to his feet before falling into step behind Bofur. The aforementioned Dwarf turned to her and grinned, his eyes twinkling.

"Now, I wonder what has gotten our dear Thorin into such a black mood today?" he grinned again, patting her shoulder gently and pushing her ahead of himself, "Off you go lass, must be swift!"

She laughed quietly, stifling it with the back of her hand, before smiling widely at Bofur. He in turn bobbed his head at her, a blush creeping up his neck and under his beard to reach his cheeks. The flaps of his hat leapt about as he moved, pushing her forward again until she met with a wall of shoulder belonging to Fili. He swung around and held out an arm, motioning for her to walk between himself and his brother. She ducked under and smiled, patting her braids nervously. "Thank you again, for these," she said, her voice soft as down, "It is definitely more convenient."

"And so stylish!" Kili threw over his shoulder as he marched ahead of her. She grinned again and continued on with their hike, watching alternately her own feet and the feet of the Dwarf ahead of her.

The company continued their journey in companionable silence for the most part, with occasional interruptions from the younger Dwarves and Bilbo, usually asking where they were, and how long they would be walking until they stopped for a meal. All questions were silenced by a cold glare from Thorin as he led them up the rocky mountain trails. There had been a moment when Kili had muttered a comment about the renowned bad temper of Dwarves, supposing that it had originated from his own dear uncle, which had made Miluiel laugh. The gurgle of deliciously innocent sound had surprised even the woman, and she had clapped her tiny hands to her mouth in surprise, before shaking with silent giggles at her own bravery. However, all jollity had been quickly extinguished as Thorin had swung around, his eyes hard as he glared at her. In that single moment, he had conveyed every negative thought and emotion he had felt about her into that glare, and pierced her soul with his irritation, before turning slowly back to the head of the group and continuing over the uneven ground in silence.

It was much later in the day, as they had climbed up and up over the mountains of the High Pass, when the bright grey clouds that clung to the sky began to heave with rain. The weather soaked the company instantly, falling in hard droplets onto their skin and almost searing with the cold. It left them miserable, devoid of even a flicker of jollity; not even Fili or Kili could muster a smirk when one of the group slipped or slid along the roughly hewn path. Miluiel had stayed between the two brothers, her dainty feet picking their way cautiously over the jagged rocks in her boots, and ahead of her trekked the Dwarf prince, Dwalin and Balin. Bilbo had fallen behind, bringing up the rear with a heavily puffing Bombur and a despondent Óin.

The rain fell in an ever-increasing sheet of icy water, and the sky began to part with crackles of lightning. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble with thunder, and it caused Miluiel to stumble, her grey eyes wide as she steadied herself against Kili's shoulder. She tilted her face up to the sky, watching the dancing light flash over the clouds, illuminating the travelling company as they moved closer to the rocky face of the mountain.

"Thorin, the storm! We should stop!" Dwalin's voice called over the rolls of thunder, echoing around and bouncing back to the trudging group. Thorin stared out at darkened sky and shook his head, droplets falling from his dark mane of hair.

"No, we continue on! Durin's Day draws ever closer," his voice boomed over the crackling sounds.

"This thunderstorm, it's the worst I've seen!" Balin cried, his beard dripping as he glanced about. He sent a pleading look at Thorin, and then glanced towards Miluiel who was grasping at the mountainside with a tiny hand, her other clawing at the air as she almost toppled over. The Dwarf prince followed his friend's gaze and his heart constricted at the sight of her pale face lashed pink with stinging rain, and her tiny body buffeted by the harsh wind. She looked exhausted with the effort of remaining upright, and her mouth was open as she tried to drag gasps of breath into her lungs against the debilitating cold. It irritated him that she was so fragile in comparison to the hardiness of the Dwarves, but a tiny worm of sympathy wriggled in the pit of his stomach as he watched her fighting to keep up without so much as a murmur of discontent. His irritation quickly rode over this emotion, squashing it as if under a giant, booted foot. Why was he thinking of her in any way? Why did she draw compassion from him, as a child draws joy from those around? What business of his was it if the wretched Elf woman could not keep up with the group?

_But she is not merely an Elf_, his conscience seemed to whisper. He shook his head angrily, sending droplets of rain in high arcs from his dark mane. _She has a part of your kin inside of her. She holds part of the great Aulë inside her, as you do inside yourself._ At this, he snorted aloud, his indignation causing him to forget himself and his surroundings. Balin looked at him curiously, his eyebrows knitted together in his fatherly way, and then he glanced over his shoulder towards the cause of most of his King's irritation of late. She was still clinging to the rock face, her tiny hands cracked and bleeding from the harsh stone, and the old Dwarf felt a great pity wash over him, as he too noted her resolve not to complain.

"We should find shelter," Thorin called, nodding at Dwalin, and turned to push on. He was halted as a boulder slammed into the mountain side, shattering into jagged pieces that rained down over the company.

"This is no thunderstorm! This is a thunder battle!" Balin yelled as another rock smashed into the hills above their heads.

"Take cover, you fools!" Thorin's voice boomed around them as Bofur stood leaning away from the path, craning his neck to watch the disaster unfold.

"Bless me! Stone Giants! The legends are true! Stone Giants!" he grinned madly into the lashing rain, before being pulled backwards by Bifur and pushed against the wall of stone.

Miluiel slipped on the wet ground as she struggled towards the mountain, her feet sliding over the path. She felt the sensation of falling as her boots failed to grip, but before she hit the ground, strong hands yanked at her arms and she felt soft, wet fur against her face. She inhaled the scent of leather and pipe tobacco as she was pushed against the mountain, her body shielded with another. She gripped the front of a jerkin with both of her hands, and buried her face against the worn yet opulent material. Her hair was stuck flat to her head, droplets of rain slipping over her skin; she felt a gentle hand cup her face, protecting it from the falling rocks, and she let out a whimper of fear as she felt the craggy ground beneath her feet move.

A great shock of sound rent the air as the mountain seemed to split in two, moving under their feet and breaking the group apart. Miluiel turned her face away from the soaked furs before her to see Fili thrusting out his hand to his brother, screaming his name as the mountain morphed into a giant. The huge creature broke off a hunk of stone and hurled it across the valley towards the other, their movements lit by the crackling lightning. Thorin thrust Miluiel away from his body, pushing her ahead of himself and onto a safe ledge, grasping at the other Dwarves to pull them to safety. Fili remained rooted to the spot as he watched his brother and half of the company disappear, as they realised they had been standing on the rocky outcrop of the giant's knees.

Thorin grabbed at the back of Fili's cloak, pulling him towards the others just as the giant moved, revealing the other half of their group before they disappeared behind another mountain. The crunch of stone on stone caused the blood in Thorin's veins to freeze, and he whipped around again to see the other half of their group safe, clustered together on a rocky outcrop not far above their own. His breath huffed out in a great wheeze, and he reached up to help the Dwarves down. They greeted one another gruffly, but his nephews had no such reserve, leaping together and gripping each other in a tight embrace.

A shrill cry made Miluiel whip around, a gasp escaping her lips as she watched Bilbo slip over the edge of the path. His curly head bobbed out of her view, and she reached out with a soft scream, only to be yanked backwards by Kili. Thorin leapt in front of her, his furs dark and slick with rain, and reached down, his large hand closing around the wrist of the dangling hobbit. He and Dwalin heaved Bilbo back up to the path, and Balin grabbed his shoulder to steady him. Thorin's eyes bored into Bilbo's, his lip quirked in a sneer, before he swept past and back to the head of the group. He brushed past Miluiel, who stretched out a slim hand and brushed over his fur. He ignored her, his brow furrowed and brooding, and looked out over the dark hills.

"I thought we'd lost out burglar!" Dwalin grinned, cuffing Bilbo on the shoulder and straightening him up with a brush of his hand.

Thorin merely raised an eyebrow, "He has been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come; he has no place among us." Then he swept around, his eyes hard as he surveyed the group before him. They were drenched to the bone and shivering, the adrenaline from their recent misadventures causing them to have an injured air about them. His heart quivered as he turned to look at Miluiel, and found her to be the most battered of them all. Her tunic had torn at the shoulder where he had pushed her against the mountain side, and her fingers were raw where she had gripped the stone to stop herself from falling. The most haunting thing that he noticed, however, was the look of hurt that flashed in her grey eyes as she stared at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. The moment passed in a blur of movement, and she was beside Bilbo, patting his clothing and face like a worried mother hen with a chick. Her lips moved, but over the roar of the wind and the battling giants, he could not understand the words she spoke. Her hair, usually curling and dancing on the wind, lay slick to her skin, and she brushed it back over her shoulder, trying to move Bilbo along with the rest of the group as they huddled together for warmth and security.

"Dwalin!" the Dwarf prince called, his voice lashing about them on the wind. He gestured ahead of them a short way, to a partly hidden opening in the stone. The other Dwarf jogged towards it, peering around the entrance and into the dim interior. His head disappeared, followed by the rest of his body as he announced that it seemed empty.

"Search to the back!" Thorin commanded as he ushered the rest of the Dwarves inside, "Caves in the mountains are seldom unoccupied."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Ten**

Miluiel stumbled forward into the dim cave, her hand still firmly on Bilbo's shoulder as he moved to sit down. Her stomach jolted when she glanced up to see the Dwarf prince watching her carefully, but she dismissed it as more annoyance directed at her, Bilbo, or the two of them together. She felt connected to the bumbling, gentle Hobbit in a way which she did not think any of the Dwarves would understand; the two of them were the outsiders, drifting along the fringes of a well-established group, and they would probably never become truly accepted due to their perceived lack of use within the company. And there was also the fear that they both shared. The fear of being in the unknown, of being alone despite being surrounded by others, and possibly most importantly, the fear of never returning home. There was a chance that either one of them would not survive the wilds of the world outside their own safe havens, or an even greater chance that the Dwarves would press on regardless of their fates. After all, the Dwarves were travelling to reclaim their lands, and once there, it was doubtful that they would have reason to leave; where would that leave a Hobbit and an Elvish Dwarf? How would **they** return home?

"Right, let's get a fire going!" Gloin rubbed his frozen hands together and shrugged his pack off his back. The other Dwarves murmured in agreement, wanting to warm themselves on dancing flames, but Thorin's voice rumbled from his chest.

"No, there will be no fire; not in this place. Get some rest, for we leave at first light."

Balin moved closer to his friend, brow furrowed. "Gandalf said we were to wait for him in the mountains," he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Miluiel and Bilbo had moved away from the others, sitting together near the mouth of the cave for fear of incurring Thorin's wrath with a wrong movement. They both turned to listen to the exchange as Balin spoke, and Miluiel's eyes glittered with something akin to triumph when she heard that. So they _had_ been instructed to wait for the wizard! He would be a fool to neglect this; surely he was not so headstrong that he would press on with his journey without the help of their most useful member?

"Plans change," Thorin replied shortly, his voice tight. "Bofur, you take first watch. The rest of you, get some sleep!"

The Dwarves moved silently to set up sleeping areas, unfurling their damp bed rolls and fluttering out cloaks as blankets, before settling down to try and sleep. Miluiel curled her lip at the Dwarf prince and flicked her own cloak out in front of her angrily, showering Fili with droplets of water. He turned back to glare at her, but his lips twitched playfully as she winced, mouthing her apology across the semi-darkness. As Fili moved out of her eye-line, she realised that she was staring straight at Thorin, with his stormy blue eyes almost black in the dim light. Colour rushed up her neck as she held his gaze, not daring to look away when his glower was so deep. Her breath caught in her throat as he continued to stare, sitting completely still across the cave; her hands were gripped on the edge of her cloak, the knuckles turning white with the exertion. His silence only intensified his brooding air of arrogance, as if he expected her to bend to his soundless will by dropping her gaze first, but for some reason she felt compelled to continue staring. His face was expressionless, but hers had emotion playing over her features dizzyingly. It was as if he was watching fireflies in the early evening, dancing and flitting through the air; her eyes were wide in the dim light, but her mouth was tight, as if she wanted to speak but was trying to keep in her words.

Eventually, she dropped her eyes to her hands, which were beginning to hurt. She released the cloak and lay down, pulling the material over her shoulder as she turned away from Thorin, facing the back of the Hobbit's curly head. She could feel the movement of air as Thorin mirrored her actions, lying down and roughly pulling his furs up to his neck to keep out the chill of the cave.

He lay in the darkness, his annoyance festering like an infected wound. He did not understand why he felt it necessary to watch her movements, and to cast his eyes over her face at any opportunity. He despised the way he felt his stomach plummet to his boots when he could not find her russet curls in the crowd of Dwarves, and the sudden skip of a heartbeat when he did see her large grey eyes staring around her in fear or wonder made his head ache with unanswered questions. No wretched woman should hold such a sway over a man, and a Dwarven prince at that! Her hold over him only fuelled his suspicion of sorcery; after all, had it not been the wizard whom had brought her to join their company? He exhaled angrily, flaring his nostrils and shaking his head to clear the image of her rain-lashed face from dancing in front of his eyes, but before he settled to slumber, he could not help shifting slightly and glancing over his shoulder. There she still lay, her small form shrouded in her damp cloak, with her back to him in a silent act of defiance. The woman was infuriating, and to that end, Thorin decided in his pique that despite Gandalf's insistence, he would find somewhere for her to stay at the earliest opportunity, and relinquish her from her ideas of assisting with their quest. For what use was this woman, other than to distract his kin?

She sighed softly, her head aching from when it had collided with the mountain side during their struggle with the giants, and her eyes felt gritty with dirt and sleep. Her body felt limp, like wet leaves lying on the forest floor, but the dull throb of her tired muscles ensured her that she was in fact still alive. Visions of soft, damp fur swam before her eyes as she tried to drift away into sleep, and the feeling of calloused palm pressed against her cheek made her stomach twist. It had been a small act of unexpected kindness, and it unsettled Miluiel; Thorin had made it abundantly clear that he did not want her accompanying the group, and yet he had not only saved her, but ensured she was kept swaddled in safety like a child in soft blankets. It puzzled her, and only served to intensify the ache in her head, so she resolved to put away all thoughts of the handsomely brooding prince, and try to sleep. The last sound she heard before drifting into dreams was a scuffle of feet next to her, and the rustle of material moving, before she welcomed the soft arms of slumber.

It was not long, however, before she stirred at the sound of hushed voices; she opened her eyes to slits and rolled over gently to see Bilbo standing next to Bofur, his pack over his shoulders and his hands on the hilt of his small sword.

"What's that?" Bofur asked, pointing to the blue glow from Bilbo's blade. Miluiel felt her heart still in her chest as she remembered Bilbo recounting what Gandalf had told him. His blade would glow blue if there were orcs or goblins nearby.

The floor beneath them shook and groaned, and she sat upright, throwing her cloak off her legs as she struggled to stand. Her frightened face turned to see Thorin, who was looking straight at her. His eyes widened as they followed the crack which was rapidly forming between them, and his jaw grew slack.

"Wake up!" he shouted, alerting the rest of the company, "Wake up!"

But it was too late, for seconds later, the floor beneath them gave way and caved inwards, dropping them down into the bowels of the mountain. They landed together in a heap on what appeared to be a stone bridge. The Hobbit landed near to Miluiel, who kicked her way out from underneath Bombur. She tried to stand up, but as she got to her knees, a dirty blade whipped up to meet her chin. She stopped moving, her eyes travelling up to see the leathery skin of a goblin; as she glanced around, she noted that they were surrounded, and the Dwarves were being forced to their feet roughly.

"Up!" the goblin before her croaked, his dagger gesturing towards the rapidly closing trap door which had dumped them into Goblin Town. She staggered to her feet and was roughly pushed forward, jostling into Kili, who glanced at her and with a movement almost too quick to catch, pushed her between himself and Nori as they moved along. She scanned the group quickly, panic rising in her chest as she found she couldn't lay her sight upon the curly haired hobbit. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure that someone would hear it, but none of the Dwarves seemed concerned enough to look for him. Just as that errant thought crossed her worried mind, Bofur nudged the back of the Dwarf in front of him, and whispered softly.

"Where's Bilbo? Has anyone seen Bilbo?" he asked, his voice brimming with concern. He glanced backward and met Miluiel's eyes as she shook her head slowly. Their expressions of horror were mirrored back to them in the other's eyes, before their eye contact broke with a swift jolt of goblin elbow.

The cackles and hoots of the goblins echoed down around them as they were forced along wooden walkways, towards a large platform which lay before a throne decorated with bones. There, upon the throne, sat a great beast of a goblin with a swinging chin and a rough crown atop his grey-skinned head. His swollen belly protruded so far that Miluiel wondered, in a flash of frivolity, if he could see his own feet.

"And who comes armed into my kingdom?" he cried, his glassy eyes bulging as he surveyed the gathered company, "Thieves? Spies? _Assassins_?"

One of the goblins surrounding them stepped forward, cowering before the great creature as he stared down at them all. "Dwarves, your malevolence," he replied, his voice high.

"Dwarves?" The voice was full of questions as he heaved himself forward in the throne, to better survey his captives.

"We found them on the Front Porch."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Search them! Every crack! Every crevice!"

The goblins swarmed the group again, pushing and pulling at the company as they stood powerless to resist. Miluiel felt hands dart over her body gleefully, pressing grubby fingers against her flesh and searching for her weapons. She let out an involuntary and indignant squeak as one goblin tried to slide his hand into her tunic, for which he got the heel of her boot on his dirty toes. The goblin reared back, hissing his discontent and glaring at her, before lunging forward again.

"Wait!" the goblin king called, his eyes lighting on Miluiel. He smacked his lips and gestured towards her. "Bring her forth to me."

The other Dwarves started to shout their protest as many hands grabbed at the frightened female, pushing her away from the relative safety of the group and into the open. She glanced back, her eyes wide as she whipped around again to face the hulking, wobbling form of the huge goblin as he watched her like a toad on a log. His tongue darted out to moisten his rubbery lips as he ran his eyes over her frame.

"What have we here? You are no Dwarf, my dear," he said, his voice sweetened by curiosity. He heaved himself to his feet and approached her; she turned her head away and flinched as she felt his dank breath crawl over her skin. She met the furious eyes of the Dwarf prince as he stared at her, a vein pulsing in his forehead with the effort of remaining in place, rather than leaping forward and wrenching the foul creature's head from his shoulders for daring to breathe upon their pretty companion. Her more than generous lower lip seemed to quiver for a mere second, and her grey eyes spoke of true fear, before she turned back to the great goblin and met his gaze silently. The goblin king peered at her through his great eyes, seemingly pondering his malevolent thoughts, and then reeled back.

"What would have you Dwarves travel here, and with this woman no less?" he thrummed. He looked expectantly at the company, who all remained silent. Miluiel gasped softly as he brought his face close to hers again. "Well, if you will not talk, then I shall have to make you squeal. And perhaps we shall begin with this one; bring the Mangler! Bring up the Bone Breaker! We'll start with the female!"

"Wait!"

"Ah!" The goblin king swung himself around to face Thorin, his face alight with fiendish delight. "Well, well! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror! King under the Mountain!" he dipped his gelatinous body into a mocking bow. "Oh, but I forget! You have no mountain, and you are no King! So really, that makes you nobody. I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head; just the head, nothing attached! Perhaps you know of whom I speak? An old enemy; a pale orc astride a white warg!"

Thorin paled at the mention of his old adversary, but inwardly shook himself, "Azog the Defiler was slain in battle long ago!"

"Oh ho! So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" the great brute of a goblin turned slightly to a scribe, his smile making Miluiel's flesh crawl. "Send word to the pale orc. Tell him I have found his prize."

Thorin moved forward quickly, grabbing at Miluiel and pulling her body behind his own. She gasped at the tightness of his fingers around her arm, but clamped her lips shut as the goblin king turned to face them again. He grinned, showing yellowing teeth at Thorin's movement, and clapped his hands together as wooden apparatus was suddenly swung into view, suspended on thick ropes and lowered onto the platform they were held on.

Thorin could feel the tight swallow of the woman behind him, and she gripped the back of his cloak momentarily, as if to give herself courage. He could feel the heat of her slim body as she pressed herself against him, away from one of the goblins who reached out towards her with inquisitive fingers, and she shifted her weight to kick out at it. He felt his lips quirk slightly at the thought of her indignantly curled lips and flashing eyes, before returning his attention to the situation around him at the sound of a shriek.

It came from one of the smaller goblins who had been rifling through the pile of weapons, its hand now clamped around Thorin's sword. It drew the blade from the scabbard, yelping as it encountered shimmering blue metal. It dropped the sword as if burned, and skittered away from the weapon.

"I know that sword! It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! That sword has slashed a thousand necks!" the goblin king cried, his eyes bulging from his head as he stumbled backwards towards his throne. "Kill them! Kill them all!"

One of the goblins grabbed at Miluiel and yanked her backwards, making her fall against the wooden planks. Thorin turned quickly to see her frightened eyes as she was dragged away towards the company and the oncoming goblins, before he felt slimy fingers clutch at him from all directions. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to fight off the hideous creatures whilst looking for Miluiel; a flash of her hair caught his eye and he grunted in relief as he saw her hurl a goblin over the side of the platform, away from Ori. Her eyes were narrowed and in the light of the dancing torches he saw a flash of true dwarven resolution; her fists were clenched tightly as she fought off goblins that yanked at her hair and skin.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the platform, and a blinding light pulsed around them, knocking them down to their knees. In the blaze of light, the silhouette of the wizard could be seen, holding his staff and sword aloft as he urged them to get up.

"Take up arms! Fight! Fight!" he yelled, his voice seeming deeper and more urgent than any had ever heard before. Scrambling towards the pile of weapons, they each reached for something familiar to their hands, trying to fight off the few goblins that were getting in their way.

The goblin king croaked in fear, "He wields the Foe Hammer! The Beater, as bright as daylight; kill them all!"

The company had crowded together, their weapons flashing as they brought them down upon goblin skin, and Thorin closed his hand around Miluiel's wrist, yanking her into his chest as a goblin slashed at the air she had been occupying moments before. She squeaked softly as he gripped her tightly, before bringing her own small sword up under his arm and plunging it into the concave chest of the goblin behind him. He jerked his head to see the blood on her blade, before pulling her closer and touching his forehead to hers briefly.

"Follow me," Gandalf shouted, watching as the Dwarves tried, unsuccessfully, to defeat the amassing hoards of foul creatures. "Run!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Eleven**

The fetid air around them had filled with the dip and swell of goblin cries as their feet raced over the wooden boards. Goblin Town was built from a series of suspended walkways and platforms, interspersed with stone bridges and rocky outcrops. The wizard led them for the most part as they careered around corners and thrust goblins away; they had their weapons drawn, and there was no mercy in their eyes as they pushed on towards what they hoped would be safety.

They came to a platform which had no bridge between it and another, and with a look of fleeting despair, Miluiel gripped tightly to the arm nearest her, which belonged to a terrifyingly angry Bombur, and watched in horror as Fili slashed at the ropes holding the platform in place. It suddenly swung across the gaping chasm and half of the company departed. Bombur gripped her wrist and almost threw her across, into the waiting arms of Balin, who steadied her on her feet and smiled crookedly, before turning back to the goblins around them. As the platform swung away from them, goblins piled on at the other end, swinging their crude weapons and yelping battle cries. The trapped Dwarves fought the nasty creatures, and leapt once more as the platform moved through the air. Fili was the last to throw himself into the air, and the seconds felt like hours stretching between them as he jumped and landed, being hauled to safety by an impatient Gandalf.

"Move!" the wizard cried, his flashing blade severing heads from shoulders as he backed towards Miluiel. She had stood, rooted to the spot for a mere moment, before having her arm yanked desperately from behind. She whirled about to face Bofur, who swung a small axe at nearby goblins and yanked her again, startling her into moving. Her feet danced over the uneven ground as she ran, feeling fear and rage carry her on their swift wings towards the other Dwarves. They thundered across the wooden boards, their footsteps ringing off the rocky cavern walls and followed by the high pitched shrieks of the amassing goblin hoards. Her sword swung upward, knocking a snarling creature off the edge of a bridge as she leapt over its fallen neighbour, her teeth ground together in determination. She willed herself to survive, as she willed the others to keep up with the darting Dwarf prince who swayed into her eye-line far ahead of her.

The group reached a wooden bridge, and as they all converged together in the middle, a crashing medley of sound made her eyes dart upwards. The wobbling goblin king slammed into the boards, his piggy eyes gleaming malevolently as he surveyed the Dwarves. He chuckled, making his entire stomach shake and shudder with the sound, before turning his attention to Gandalf as he strode forward ahead of the others with his sword and staff held aloft.

"You thought you could escape me?" he laughed, the sound rumbling from the quivering flesh as he pushed Gandalf backwards. Many hands reached up to steady the wizard, forcing him back to his feet. As he moved, Thorin glanced about, searching for the wide grey eyes he needed to see. She was a few feet from him, sandwiched between Nori and Bofur, who both held their weapons tightly and had rammed their shoulders against hers. She herself looked terrified, her eyes huge in her sweet pale face; her dark lips formed words he could not hear, and for a split second she raised her head, catching his gaze. Clouds of pink drifted up her neck to her cheeks and she nodded curtly, her mouth now held tightly as if she were keeping in a sound.

"What are you going to do now, wizard?" the great goblin asked, his bulbous eyes wide. Thorin turned back to see Gandalf thrust his staff forward, jabbing one of the huge eyes before slashing at the swinging stomach of the hulking form blocking their path. The slimy creature fell to his knees, where Gandalf again slashed forth, this time severing head from neck. The piercing shrieks of devastated goblins served as a counterpart to creaking, splintering wood as his body slithered over the edge, breaking timbers and causing the bridge beneath their feet to undulate as it was rent from its moorings on either side.

Miluiel felt her feet slip as the bridge began its descent down the sides of the cavern beneath, and her tiny hand reached forward to grab the furred shoulder of Dwalin standing in front of her. The Dwarf thrust his shoulder forward in a movement almost quicker than the eye, swinging her forward and into his arms. He pushed her roughly between himself and Thorin as they tried to steady themselves whilst their platform raced down the mountain wall. Around them echoed the shouts and cries of the other Dwarves, followed by the squeaks and shrieks of the goblins as they watched their prisoners escaping. Thorin could only grip Miluiel's tiny wrist in his hand as they fell down into the darkness, and he could feel her cool skin almost prickling in fear. Her other hand held tightly to the side of Dwalin's jerkin, her fingers twisted into the fabric so that if they were to fall over the side, they should fall together. With a jolt, the bridge suddenly stopped, wedged between the sides of the cavern, before creaking, shifting and falling a few more feet, collapsing as it hit the ground. Dwarves around her groaned as the wood showered down onto their heads, but she could not see for in her face was the soft, damp fur of a cloak. Dark, searching eyes burrowed into her own as she swiped the material aside, and she found herself cocooned in muscular arms, fully protected from the jagged wooden boards. Her heart hammered against her rib cage, like a fluttering bird beating its wings; she felt certain that the Dwarf above her could feel every quiver she made. Thorin's body lay flush with her own, and she marvelled momentarily at how comfortably they seemed to fit together, before feeling another pair of hands reach under her shoulders. She gasped as she was slid from underneath the Dwarf prince, and as her eyes widened with fear, she heard Balin's frantic voice.

"On your feet lassie, on your feet!" he said, pulling her free from the wreckage and setting her upright. She brushed down her clothes and looked back to Thorin, who was wriggling out from under the wood himself. Her lips parted as she was about to thank him, before he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her forward.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, shaking her roughly. Her head rocked on her neck as she looked at him, her eyes wide in her pretty face. She shook her head wordlessly, ramming her lips together and turning them white. Suddenly, taking the prince quite by surprise, she launched herself at his chest, wrapping her slim arms tightly around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Her small frame curved into his body as he awkwardly brought his arms around her waist; he could feel her trembling as she pressed herself to him, before releasing him and stepping back, her neck and face flushed a delicate pink. Her hair fell about her shoulders in haphazard chaos, splinters of wood and debris clinging to its lengths, and streaks of dirt marred her pale countenance. For an errant moment, Thorin longed to brush his fingers through her wild tresses, and to gently brush her soft cheek. She opened her mouth to speak, but as her lips moved, Kili's voice sliced through the air.

"Gandalf!" the dark-haired Dwarf cried, his own eyes wide as he stared overhead. The company turned to follow his gaze and watched as the goblins skittered down the sides of the dank cavern towards them. They numbered in the thousands, and their dirty skin was illuminated in the yellowing glow of torchlight as they moved in a wave down and down. Gandalf strode towards the fallen bridge and yanked on the arms of a struggling Dwarf, before turning to the group as they brushed themselves down and began to panic.

"Only one thing will save us. Daylight! Come on! Here, on your feet!" Gandalf turned and began to run, leading the Dwarves down a series of winding tunnels that seemed to twist and turn like the coils of a snake, their feet ringing on the stone floor. As they ran, the air around them became lighter and sweeter, as if a spell were being wafted away by an unseen hand. Bofur looked over his shoulder to see Miluiel gripping Oin's wrist, dragging the older Dwarf behind her as she tried to keep up with the group. Oin lagged behind, his old bones sore from their journey down the chasm, and it seemed the only thing keeping him with his kin was the tiny woman, her breath coming in pants and gasps as she hurried along.

Suddenly, a shaft of light sliced across their faces, and the sight of the surrounding woodland spurred the company onward for a last burst of speed. As they ran through the stone opening, the wizard counted them out, not wishing to leave any of his charges in the dark goblin prison. Miluiel and Oin were the last of the group to leap out into the sunlight, their feet crushing the soft grass as they pounded down the mountainside, narrowly avoiding boulders and pine trees that reached into the evening sky.

"Where is Bilbo?" Gandalf cried, his voice cracking with uncertainty, "Where is our Hobbit?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Twelve**

Miluiel bent at the waist, resting her hands on her thighs as she gasped at the sweet air, her hair hanging in front of her face in sweaty curls. She swiped at her forehead, her throat burning with exertion. Oin crouched next to her, his moustache twitching as he panted. He reached out a hand and patted her arm, smiling faintly as she nodded at him, understanding his silent thanks.

Gandalf counted the company again, before realising that they were missing their very important burglar. "Where is the Hobbit? Where is Bilbo?" The frantic hitch in his deep voice made the group look about themselves, as if he would spring up from the very grass under their feet. The Dwarves began to mutter amongst themselves, trying to ascertain who had seen him last. Bofur seemed to come to a realisation, and his braids danced as he spoke.

"I saw him! I think I saw him slip away when the goblins first captured us!" he cried, his face triumphant. Miluiel moved closer to the group, pushing her damp hair back from her face. Her brow was furrowed with worry, the emotion etched into the lines marring her pretty face. Thorin glanced at her and his heart constricted suddenly, as if her anxiety caused him physical pain. As quickly as it spasmed through him, it was gone in a moment to be replaced with scoffing righteousness.

"Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He has thought of nothing but his warm hearth and soft bed since first stepping out of his front door! We shall not be seeing that Hobbit again, you can mark these words!" Thorin ground out, bitter with resentment, and surveyed the group. They wore matching expressions of hurt and fear at the prospect of their friend and burglar abandoning them so easily. Miluiel wrinkled her nose in disgust. For a moment, he glimpsed the deepest well of her emotion, and he recognised both betrayal and repugnance reflected back to him in her darkening eyes.

"You are so quick to judge him, Master Dwarf!" her voice shook as she spoke, and her grey eyes clouded like the sky before a coming storm. She started forward, her fists balled at her sides as her anger swept over her pale face. The generous lower lip was pursed over her teeth, with any hint of softness gone from her expression. Miluiel was not tall, but in that moment, Thorin almost thought she grew as she made to stride towards him. She was truly repulsed by his arrogance and his surety that the poor, kind Hobbit had made off at the first chance he got. She valued loyalty and honesty in those she liked, and she trusted her own judgement of character, so for the Dwarf prince to so readily give up Bilbo for a cowardly dog, slinking away into the sunset, made her blood boil in her veins.

"I am here," a small voice said, and suddenly the Hobbit appeared, his hairy toes twitching as he stood watching the group. His curly head bobbed at Miluiel as her face split into a wide grin.

"Bilbo! I do not think I have been so glad to see someone in my life," Gandalf smiled, patting the Hobbit on the shoulder. Miluiel spun away from the Dwarf prince and picked her way over the soft grass to hug him quickly, her arms encircling his shoulders in a tight embrace which Bilbo returned rather awkwardly. Thorin watched the exchange, his brow darkened with annoyance. An errant thought flashed into his mind that he should like to be held as the Hobbit was, tightly and without reservation. A fleeting memory of her body pressed to his in the goblin tunnels, a silent thanks for protecting her when the bridge fell, curled in front of his eyes, dancing like smoke on the wind. She had been without reservation then, and for a mere second he thought he had felt his heart lighten almost imperceptibly. But now, standing in the warm evening light, he dashed away thoughts of the young woman, and began looking about himself, searching for their next path; however, his eyes strayed once again to the pretty enigma of a woman before him. Her hair had curled over her shoulders and into her face as she bent forward slightly, and his hand twitched absently, as if it made to sweep the tendrils behind her tiny ears. Fili's voice snapped him out of his reverie, and he angrily thrust his hand into a pocket, wriggling his fingers in ire. The gesture did not go unnoticed, and Balin furrowed his brow as he kept his eyes fixed upon his prince. It did not do for their leader to be distracted at such a time, when their quest was so important, but a tiny voice inside the older Dwarf seemed to assert itself. Perhaps what Thorin needed was light in his life, for when all around seems lost, what else is there to look to?

"How on earth did you get past the goblins?" the elder of Thorin's nephews asked, eyebrows knitted together as he spoke to the Hobbit.

"Yes," Dwalin rumbled, "How indeed?"

Bilbo laughed nervously, his fingers disappearing into the pocket of his jerkin for a moment. Miluiel caught the action, as did Gandalf; her grey eyes lifted to meet those of the wizard with a puzzled expression. Gandalf shook his head almost imperceptibly, knowing that only the sharp eyes of the young woman would catch the movement, before stepping forward and clapping the Hobbit on the shoulder once more.

"What does that matter now? He's back," the wizard said, smiling down at Bilbo with fondness.

Thorin hummed deep in his throat, catching the groups' attention before he spoke, "It matters. I want to know; why did you come back?"

The Hobbit looked bashful for a moment, and smoothed a hand over the front of his jerkin before answering. His eyes were large in his ruddy face as he looked around the company, "Look, I know you doubt me. I know..." he paused, watching the Dwarf king. "I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my arm chair, and my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back, because... you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you, but I will help you take it back if I can."

Miluiel smiled softly, lighting the delicate features of her face as she turned to look at Thorin. Her eyes bored into his own for a moment, silently conveying her thoughts; _you were wrong about him, and you should be ashamed for thinking so ill of this kind Hobbit_, she seemed to say. Guilt pooled in the base of his gut as he watched the group laughing and talking with the Hobbit, completely trusting his explanation and welcoming him back to them as a long-lost friend.

A long howl in the distance silenced the jollity, lancing fear through the hearts of those stood in the little clearing.

"Out of the frying pan," Thorin breathed softly, his eyes finding those of his kin, who looked terrified.

"And into the fire," Gandalf said, before raising his voice, "Run. Run!"

The company began to run, their feet sliding over the lush grass as they negotiated trees and large boulders, careering down the mountainside with wild abandon. It seemed their luck had yet to turn, as the Wargs appeared behind them, getting ever closer. The evil animals' eyes glowed in the dwindling evening light, their fur glinting with dirt and blood from their previous hunts. But this night, they hungered for Dwarf flesh, and with the Pale Orc lashing at their heels, they seemed determined not to be disappointed.

"The trees! Up into the trees, all of you!" Gandalf cried, making for the nearest and hoisting himself up by the lower hanging branches. Fili and Kili followed him, leaping from the ground as if their heels were winged. The other Dwarves were still running, trying to find trees for themselves, as Bilbo was cornered by a Warg. It gnashed its teeth, the scent of rotting flesh escaping from its throat as it faced the Hobbit. He held his sword in front of him, trying to cover the quiver in his grasp. The Warg lunged forth, expected to close its jaw around soft flesh, but instead meeting the cool steel of Bilbo's blade. He had screwed his eyes shut, thinking of his imminent death, but when it did not come, his eyes snapped open and he almost gasped with confusion. He had killed the creature?

The rest of the company did not give him time to celebrate his first kill, shouting at him to find a tree, before he was helped into the nearest one by Bofur and Gloin reaching down for him. It was only in the nick of time which his hairy toes disappeared into the foliage, for more Wargs had come, snapping their jaws at the trees. The company sat in the branches, the trees swaying as the Wargs circled beneath them; their slavering maws were opened in cruel grins as they looked upward, towards their terrified prey.

Then, standing atop a flattened boulder, appeared the Pale Orc in his fearsome glory, his hulking form astride the white Warg silhouetted against the darkened sky. Thorin looked up and caught sight of the Orc warrior, blinking slowly as the creature began to speak in a guttural tongue. He felt fear lance through his chest and the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention.

"It cannot be," he murmured softly, his brow creasing as he recalled the moment so many years ago when he rent the pale forearm from the elbow, causing Azog to flail in pain and seeming defeat. It was that day that he had earned the moniker Oakenshield, which he wore proudly for his people and for his ancestors. Azog extended his uninjured arm and pointed to the Dwarf king, uttering an order to his followers, who began to surge forward, towards the company.

The Wargs then started to leap at the tree trunks, pushing their giant front paws against the bark and waiting to hear the shrieking, crunching sound of splintering wood. The company watched helplessly as the animals slowly began to rock the trees on their roots, pushing them insistently until they began to twist away from the ground with a groan. The Dwarves leapt from the falling trees, into the nearest branches of those trees still standing. It was not long before all of the company were clinging to one tree, their fingers digging into the bark to keep a firm grip on the branches, as well as their lives.

It was during the few fleeting seconds of the last leap of the company, as Miluiel thrust her slim frame through the air, that the Dwarf prince felt his heart momentarily stop in his chest. His mind raced as he watched her hair flutter in the breeze and her clothes moved as she fell towards the outstretched arms of his company. Her hands were splayed as she caught the grip of Dwalin, and Thorin felt the air whoosh from his lungs whilst he watched his friend pull her to safety. Meanwhile, Gandalf lit a pine cone aflame with his staff, lobbing it down the branches to Fili, who caught it and began to light others from it. Soon, most of the company were armed with blazing projectiles, which they launched from their vantage point between the leaves, laughing and cheering as their efforts drove back the cowering Wargs.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Thirteen**

It was the sound of root being wrenched from earth which halted the Dwarves' short-lived victory. The great pine tree they had all sought refuge in had begun to twist away from the ground, groaning in its last moments as a living part of the world, before swaying perilously over the precipice of the cliff behind them. It seemed that their combined weight had been too much for the once mighty tree, and splinters of bark flew through the air as it toppled backwards, coming to rest on the dry grass. The tops of its branches, adorned with green leaves, lay over the gaping chasm of the cliff edge, dangling the company over limitless darkness below.

Gandalf's pale face seemed to lose what little colour it had as he saw Dori and Nori swaying from a branch, grasping each other tightly in fear. They shouted to him, their words whipped into a frenzy on the strong breeze which curled about the night, and it was with a last shout of terror that they disappeared from view. The wizard leapt forth and swept his staff downward in a sweeping arc, catching their reaching hands to save them from the certain death below. The two Dwarves were not out of danger however, as their sweat-greased palms slid over the polished grey wood.

"Hold on!" Gandalf cried, hauling with every muscle to keep the swaying Dwarves from falling into darkness. His fingers were white with exertion, and it was with a gasp that his body slid forward minutely. Miluiel slid along the trunk of the tree, nearer to the wizard, and gripped the staff in her own tiny hands, helping to keep the dangling Dwarves in some semblance of safety. She looked around and saw the other members of the company clinging to the tree with fear raging in their eyes, watching as the Wargs paced back and forth before the burning ground hungrily. Their dark, wild eyes reflected the dancing flames as they swayed between the two factions, and the saliva covering Warg jaws glistened in the dull light.

The Dwarf prince glanced about himself to see his company clinging to the tree, all with fear settled in their eyes. The bravest of Dwarves were around him, and yet he could not see any who were not afraid. He looked over at Miluiel, the strange, beautiful woman who had wormed her way into his thoughts despite his most desperate of efforts. But this was not the time for sentimental moments, and he dashed away thoughts of her tumbling autumnal curls, and her storm grey eyes which seemed to light her way, even in the darkest of times, and her delicately flushed skin as he held her face gently in his hand. He had marvelled at how tiny she was in that moment on the mountainside, and again in the goblin tunnels; despite how small she was, she had fit perfectly into the curves of his own body, and this was something which he clung to as he pushed himself to his feet. Her darling, beautiful face swam before his eyes as he moved away from the company, and before he pushed it away to allow his attention to focus on his enemy, he imagined for a tiny moment, the soft brush of his lips against her slim hand, and the peaceful smile she may one day grace him with. But for this moment, thoughts of beauty and fragility were dashed against the steel of his resolve, and he carried onward along the tree trunk.

"Thorin!"

Miluiel felt her heart leap into her throat as she whipped her head around to the sound of Dwalin's cry, and saw the Dwarf prince walking along the fallen tree, towards the Pale Orc and away from his comrades. His sword gleamed at his side, and in that moment, with the breeze lifting his dark hair from his shoulders and his bearing straighter than an arrow, she felt a pull inside her that went deeper than any fear she had ever encountered. He could die at any moment, and she could do nothing to stop it. She felt as though she might never experience joy again, and with every marching step he took away from her, Miluiel felt tiny shreds of her soul leaving her body, as if to cling to him and persuade him back to the company, and to her. Her mind flitted back to those moments of closeness which they had shared and felt her heart constrict almost painfully. His scent curled once more on the air, enveloping her in his muscular arms once more, filling her with both pleasure and dread. Tears sprung to her grey eyes as she could do nothing but watch as he strode away, intent on only one thing. It seemed that all else faded away from him, as if in a terrible dream, and all he could see was the pale skinned enemy before him. Her lips parted then, and in a last moment of hope, a single word slipped forth, buffeted on the night air and lost before it reached the Dwarf prince.

"Thorin."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Fourteen**

The glisteningly pale eyes of the great Orc seemed to hold the Dwarf prince under a spell as he moved with such purpose over the tree trunk. His boots rang over the dying earth, scorched by their fiery defences, and his sword was held tightly in his grip. Thorin's eyes were unwavering in their gaze, focused on the pale, leathery skin criss-crossed with scars. His lip curled in a silent snarl as he continued forward, his stride never faltering. His pace quickened, and he began to run through the flaming pines, all the while keeping his enemy squarely ahead of him. Thorin thrust forward his chest and moved with a purpose; he would kill the disgusting creature before him, or he would perish in the effort.

Azog smiled a grim smile, a smile which made even the bravest of hearts quiver in fear. The evil behind that smile seemed to drip from his skin, like ice melting into droplets of the coldest water. His white Warg moved beneath him, rolling its muscles and growling low in its throat.

Thorin continued to run, his oaken branch coming forward as a shield and his sword swinging high in his grasp. The determination and surety in his eyes served only to amuse the pale Orc as he waited. Then suddenly, with a guttural roar, Azog leaned forward over the neck of his Warg and urged it forward, leaping as one being into the night air. As it leapt, Azog smiled his evil smile once more, before bringing his Warg down upon Thorin, knocking him to the hard earth. The Warg then wheeled about, dancing upon its forepaws with a strange elegance, before pulling back its white lips to reveal hideous teeth.

Thorin, dragging himself to his feet once more, allowed the years of foul hatred to well up from deep within himself, coming to the fore with a snarl of such ire that the Dwarves in the trees felt the vibrations in their own chests. They looked on helplessly, fighting to keep their grip upon the branches, silently willing their fearless leader to victory, or at least safety.

Azog hurtled towards the lone Dwarf, swinging his devilish mace forward and catching Thorin in the middle of his chest. This unbalanced him, causing his feet to slide from under him, and his stumble drew a collective gasp from the overturned tree. Then, with a command from its master, the white Warg opened its massive jaws and clamped them around Thorin, piercing his skin and armour alike. The Warg turned, presenting its prey to the company, and Azog smiled again, evil cascading from his very being. But as their attention was turned away from the Dwarf prince for a moment, he swung Orcrist high and sliced the top of the Warg's snout, causing the beast to roar in pain and fling Thorin away. He landed with a sickening crack on a stony outcrop, letting out a single gasp of agony. Then, turning towards the Dwarf with revenge glistening from its fangs, the White Warg made to pounce again.

Thorin's eyes were opened to mere slits as he watched the scene unfold in what felt like slow motion; every movement seemed sluggish, as if he were watching through a dense fog. His chest heaved painfully as he tried to drag air into his lungs, and his ribs screamed in pain when he tried to roll. He could not stand, and he could not fight, so he tried to consider death as an option, and found his mind wandering.

The first fully formed image that shuddered to a halt in front of his eyes was that of his sister Dis and his brother Frerin, who seemed much younger and happier than he could recall. Their faces were rosy, unlined by age or worry, and they seemed to laugh in his mind, as if they were but children again. The next thing he saw was the moment Fili had been presented to him, Dis proudly holding her new-born son in her arms; her face had been filled with such love that he had failed to remain aloof and impersonal, and simply wrapped an arm around her shoulders, before dropping a kiss on the babe's brow. Then appeared Kili, a baby with a shock of thick dark hair even at birth, who had gurgled and smiled from the moment he was born. Both of his sister-sons had been happy young Dwarflings, and had been mischievous in a way that reminded him of his own exploits with his siblings, causing him to be perhaps too lenient with their behaviour if he found their antics particularly amusing. The faces of those in his company swam before his eyes then; they were all smiling and laughing, in a happier time before the great Fire Drake had appeared and taken their stronghold.

A pair of startlingly bright eyes suddenly stared back at him, and for a moment he could not place the grey irises ringed with dark, thick lashes. Then, a strand of auburn hair curled forward, and his heart began to pound as he examined the planes of her face in his mind. Her lips were curved upward, and a wry thought struck him; she would not have be smiling so if he were the one before her, and he supposed he remembered it from her encounters with another. He stared at her bottom lip, which was too generous for her tiny face, but this further piqued his intrigue as he noted her slight imperfections. Her face was pink and delicately tanned from the midday sun, with her glossy hair twisted over her shoulder so it gleamed as she moved. Her mouth opened as if she were going to speak, but as a sound began to rise from her throat, the fog of his mind seemed to dissipate, leaving the crashing sounds of a battle raging around him.

Bilbo had charged from the tree with his sword held aloft, and parried the oncoming blow from the white Warg as it made to snap its jaws around a seemingly lifeless Thorin. It was at the sight of this courageous move that those of the company who were able had leapt from the fallen tree and bounded over the dry earth to defend their leader. The flames from their earlier defensive attack danced high into the night sky, throwing light and shadow across the hillside as they fought on, spurred by each other's battle cries and the clang of cold steel.

A flash of autumnal colour caught Thorin's half-lidded eyes as he lay on the flat outcrop of stone, and she turned to look at him with worry etched over her face. His lips formed her name, but she could not hear his softly rasping breaths as he lay wounded. An Orc swung a rough blade up behind her, and at a shout from one of the other Dwarves, she spun around and leapt to the side, bringing her own short sword down upon the foul creature's wrist. Its howl of pain was lost to the beat of enormous wings however, and as Thorin caught sight of the huge eagles descending on the hillside, his vision finally faded to inky blackness, and he succumbed to the insistent pain gnawing his bones.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Chapter Fifteen**

The eagles had come. They had arrived in a flock to aid the company as they fought, surrounded by fire and death. The great birds beat their wings, forming huge gusts of air to fan the dancing flames, and their sharp talons pierced Warg skin as they tossed them away from the fighting Dwarves. They were as one entity in their movements, and they seemed to communicate with one another with barely a sound.

Dori's fingers had begun to slip on Gandalf's polished wood staff, and after a moment of terror, the Dwarf felt himself clutching at the night air. The two brothers fell down into the darkness and their wails echoed off the cliff walls as they continued down, before landing with a soft expulsion of air onto the back of an eagle. The great bird flew high and fast, leaving the hillside and heading towards the ever lightening sky of beckoning dawn. This rescue was swiftly followed by more of the eagles as they picked up the company members, and began their soaring journey in the cool air.

One eagle flew low over the hill and grasped Thorin gently in its talons, beating its wings to become airborne once more, and joined the rest of the flock as they left the enraged Orcs behind on the burning hillside. The last sound clearly heard echoing around the mountainside was the guttural howl of disappointment from Azog as he watched his enemy make their escape.

The eagles flew with the rising sun, their wings touching clouds as they moved through the air with little effort; the Dwarves clung to their feathers, fear evident in their tightly curled fingers and wide eyes. Only Gandalf seemed at ease atop one of the great birds, and he chuckled softly to himself as he looked about the group. Even Miluiel looked terrified, despite her considerable skill in horsemanship. Then again, the old wizard supposed that an eagle was a _little_ different to a trusted pony.

The eagle holding Thorin adjusted its grip gently, causing Fili to yell "Thorin!" across the empty sky before him, worry etched over his young features. The two young brothers clung to one another as they watched their beloved uncle, who was still dangling precariously from sharp talons. His oaken shield had fallen from his arm as he was carried off, but Orcrist still lay clutched to his chest. The mighty head of dark hair hung at a grotesque angle, swaying gently with every down-stroke of the eagle's wings; his face was impassive, almost peaceful as he was carried through the air, soaring on the breeze like a free soul. Miluiel felt eyes watching her as she stared wordlessly at the Dwarf prince, watching his body shift and sway with the movements of the mighty bird, her pink lips pursed in concentration. She dared not look away, and her heart had leapt to her throat the moment she had seen Thorin grasped in sharp talons. Her curls were lifted on the wind as they continued on their journey, and a great flat rock came into sharp focus against the dawn sky.

The eagles began to descend, allowing the Dwarves to dismount and steady themselves against the stone before taking off again, soaring into the sun-kissed sky and back on their way. Gandalf was the first to be deposited, and he waited anxiously as Thorin was laid gently upon the rock before him. He approached as the eagle took off, whisking his hat from his head and laying it next to his staff at Thorin's side. He began to mutter in a strange tongue, placing his wizened hand upon the Dwarf prince's unlined brow. His hair had fallen about him in a dark curtain, and his soft expression belied the raging emotion the wizard knew lay beneath.

"What is he doing?" Dwalin asked, fear lacing his voice as he looked to his kin. They stood around, gazing intently at the wizard as he continued murmuring. Miluiel had taken one of Fili's hands in her own, whilst her other was grasped tightly in both of Kili's. She squeezed lightly, watching both brothers as they stared with unseeing eyes at Gandalf and their uncle, who lay still on the cold stone. She whispered a soft prayer to Aulë the great creator, promising anything he would ask of her to return the Dwarf prince. Her heart lay heavy in her chest as she watched, tears pricking at the corners of her grey eyes. They began to spill slowly over her pink cheeks as she prayed, her head bowed so her hair fell over her shoulders in a soft tumble. Just as she felt that all may be lost, Thorin's eyes began to flicker. Gandalf smiled down at him, moving his hand from his forehead and tilting his head gently.

"The Halfling?" Thorin croaked, feeling his voice rush from his lips like water over rock. He tried to sit up, heaving his body a little before Balin and Fili rushed forward and helped him upright.

"Bilbo is here, he is safe," Gandalf replied, turning to smile at the Hobbit, who was standing apart from the group. Miluiel had moved away too, allowing his company to converge on him as he struggled to stand, their relief evident on their smiling faces. She swiped at her cheeks, smearing dirt over her skin as she quickly erased the evidence of her foolish tears. Why should she not believe in the wizard and his magic? And what good had crying ever done for anyone? No, she did not wish for Thorin to see her weeping; he already thought of her as a silly woman, superfluous to all aspects of his quest, and she did not want to compound the issue.

Bilbo heaved great sighs of relief as he watched Thorin get to his feet, blood still adorning his face and hands as he approached him slowly. The Dwarf prince shrugged off all offers of aid as he strode forward.

"You!" he cried, his lips twisted in what appeared to be a snarl. Gandalf furrowed his brow and made to step between the two, but Thorin was deceptively quick to cover the ground between them. "What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!" Bilbo looked flabbergasted, and he rocked back on his heels from the Dwarf's apparent anger as Thorin continued.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" Thorin was now close enough for Bilbo to smell the damp fur on his cloak, and the remnants of pipe tobacco. The Hobbit swallowed hard, feeling a knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he stood quietly, waiting for the Dwarf to recount just how useless he had found him from the moment he had ran after them clutching his contract. The green grass and rolling hills of the Shire seemed so far away in that moment, and how he longed to be back on his bench, sucking at his pipe and watching his neighbours going about their business in a gently self-important way.

Thorin heaved a great sigh at that moment, and his face softened, "I have never been more wrong," he said, lurching forward and gripping Bilbo to his chest in a tight embrace. The Hobbit was shocked, but returned the gesture awkwardly with a puzzled yet relived smile upon his face. The company around them began to laugh and smile, clapping one another on the shoulder and watching as their leader held fast to the small Halfling.

"I am sorry I doubted you," Thorin said as he released Bilbo, squeezing his shoulder in a final moment of gratitude.

"Oh no, I would have doubted me too," Bilbo replied, nodding earnestly. "I'm not a hero; I'm not even a burglar." He watched the last of the eagles dip out of view, and then turned to face the rising sun. "Is that that I think it is?"

The company then moved as one to the edge of the rock upon which the stood, and gazed out at the distant peak as it rose from the earth to touch the clouds. Thorin smiled, his joy at laying his eyes upon his homeland etched upon his face.

"Erebor," Gandalf rumbled as he pushed Miluiel ahead of himself, to stand a few paces behind the Dwarf prince. She too looked out at the mountain shrouded in mist and smiled softly, feeling her heart gladden at the sight of their journey's end. She then looked to Thorin, and her smile widened almost imperceptibly as her eyes roved over his face as it lit with pleasure.

"The Lonely Mountain," Gandalf continued to speak as he watched the young woman, watching Thorin as he stared across the earth. "The last of the great Dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth."

Thorin did not move as he replied, "Our home."

A bird began to chirp behind the assembled group, and Oin turned gleefully. "A raven! The birds are returning to the mountain!" He pointed to the dancing wings with his ear trumpet, and Thorin gazed at it as if it held all the wonders of the world within its sweet song.

Miluiel could not help but giggle softly, "Oh Oin," she said gently, smiling at him from beside the Dwarf prince. Thorin looked down at her, as if noticing her for the first time, and furrowed his brow. He shot her a questioning look which she did not see as she looked to the wizard, standing tall against the lightening sky.

"That, my dear Oin, is a thrush," he said, leaning on his polished staff.

"But we'll take it as a sign," Thorin rumbled, turning again to look at his beloved home in the mountain. "A good omen."

"You're right," Bilbo said, smiling. "I do believe the worst is behind us."

The Dwarves seemed cheered by this pronouncement from the Hobbit, but Thorin caught Miluiel shooting an anxious look at Gandalf, who merely quirked an eyebrow and patted her shoulder gently. She drew her generous bottom lip between her teeth and began to chew it, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. For surely their journey would not be easy from here, and she feared that complacency among them would only lead to ill fates. An unease filled her heart as she stared at the Lonely Mountain, before turning her head to meet dark eyes, intently boring into her own. Thorin lifted an eyebrow and she released her lip, darting her small tongue out to taste the blood there, before dropping her eyes and turning slightly so she could see the group. The Dwarves had quickly become her friends, and she was disturbed at the thought of any of them falling into darkness. What would become of them now, when they had come so far, and yet their journey was not at an end? Would every one of these Dwarves cast their eyes once again over their home? Or would the return to Erebor be a more sombre affair?


	17. Author Note

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except my original characters

**Author Note**

To everyone who has read this story so far, thank you.

To everyone who has reviewed, your kind words have spurred me on and helped me to improve my writing immeasurably. Again, thank you.

I will be continuing with this story, using both the book and the second film as inspiration and guidance, but I warn you that you may all have to be patient with me. I'm currently undertaking my nursing degree, and as such have more assignments and exams than I actually thought possible.

I will update as soon as I can, and hopefully the continuation of this story will be as well received as the first instalment.

Thank you again,

Emily


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